


Harry Potter and the Unusually Long Camping Trip

by EliteDelieght, tamilprongspotter



Series: rewrite potter [17]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Loss of Innocence, Mental Health Issues, Second War with Voldemort, depictions of ptsd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2018-12-05 02:44:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 51,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11568666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EliteDelieght/pseuds/EliteDelieght, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamilprongspotter/pseuds/tamilprongspotter
Summary: All roads must come to an end sooner or later, and unluckily for Harry Potter, the end of his road involves a battle against one of the most powerful Dark wizards of all time, Lord Voldemort. Harry, in one final push to destroy Voldemort, has given up everything -- his family, his safety, his education (though maybe that wasn’t as severe a loss as the previous two). Will that be enough? Or will he need to sacrifice even more to rid his world of evil once and for all?





	1. Home

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Book Seven.
> 
> This book is going to be slightly different from previous ones, mainly because we're dealing with even heavier subject material than usual, considering the war's actively on by this point, and we're dealing with more settings than usual (hint hint). 
> 
> We hope you enjoy it -- we want to make this last book the best it can be, and half of that is us enjoying writing it, and the other half is you enjoying reading it. Be sure to let us know if you like it!
> 
> It's strange to think of the last book opening today, but it was bound to come sooner than later. 
> 
> We can't wait to take this last journey with you.
> 
> Thank you so much, and please do enjoy yourselves as much as we will.
> 
> -S&E

Lily Evans had married the love of her life at the age of nineteen, mostly so that she would be allowed to visit him if he landed in the hospital again. She had gone into hiding with him a year later, in a cozy cottage in a cozy town very few people had ever heard of. Her eldest son had been born there, and lived the first year of his life there. James had, however temporarily, defeated the Dark Lord there. But it hadn’t been a home -- it was merely a place to rest along the way, a place to hide with her family, for a time.

In the weeks following Voldemort’s first demise, the Wizarding World had rejoiced. There had been celebrations and mourning in turn, and James, Lily and Harry had been able to come out of hiding, though they still owned that cozy cottage in Godric’s Hollow. They had moved into the Potter family Manor, a large house -- large enough to comfortably fit a married couple and their five children, and more, had they been inclined to an even more chaotic family. It had seemed natural to settle there -- James had grown up there, and so would his children, following in their father’s footsteps. Even if he had been a terror in his teenage years, he’d turned out alright, and so would they. Besides, his attitude couldn’t have been the house’s fault.

It was a good house, familiar and sturdy. The walls were lined with pictures -- some that moved, and others that were simply frozen moments in time, preserved for as long as the paper they were printed on lasted. The air inside somehow always smelled of someone cooking, even when the kitchen was empty. Her children had grown up in this house. Lily had imagined she would grow old in this house, with her husband at her side.

It felt wrong for everything within it to be packed up into boxes. Maybe some of that was because, with five kids, the house had rarely been this clean -- someone was always leaving discarded jackets, sweaty socks and school things all over the floor, or spilling food someplace food should not be, or hiding half read library books under furniture. Even if they had sometimes looked and smelled abhorrent, those things had brought character to their home, had made it their own. It looked strangely bare without them, like they’d already left, in the ways that had mattered.

Books and clothes and mementos -- anything that they couldn’t bear to live without, and plenty more on top of that. Most of it had already been shipped ahead of them or stored in the Muggle unit she’d procured, leaving the house Lily Evans-Potter had lived in for sixteen years barren. There was no laughter drifting down the halls, no cat curled up in the sunbeams filtering across the floor, and no clothes spilling out of laundry hampers abandoned in the hallway, like great, hulking tripping hazards.

Lily was sitting in her empty bedroom, contemplating an empty box. She was kneeling on the floor beside it, a roll of tape ready to seal it shut once she’d finished her task. She knew, logically, that she needed to finish packing away the last of her clothes, as they wouldn’t be staying in this house for very much longer. This house. Her house.

It was an odd feeling, realizing you could leave a place filled to the brim with memories, and possibly never return.

It had been her decision, in the end, to leave. She had already sacrificed so much to this seemingly never-ending war, and she refused to sacrifice anything else. Not her children, or her life, and certainly not any more of her friends -- and yet she was willing to sacrifice her home.

For safety, she would remind herself. For security.

No matter how much leaving this house behind felt like an ending, she had to remind herself that it was necessary for their story to continue. There would be more houses -- more homes for them to live in and grow in. Perhaps not houses or homes that had dusty old attics for Matt to hide in, or the kitchen doorframe covered in little lines from colored markers, neatly labeled with the heights and ages of her children through the years. But she would still remember these things, in whatever house or home they lived in next. She would always have her memories, if not the items themselves or rooms that they had taken place in. She could replace material items -- crisp and new in exchange for the faded edges of old, worn out things running purely on sentimentality and luck.

She could not replace her family.

It was this thought that finally spurred her into movement, mechanically moving clothing into the cardboard box neatly labeled in cursive, ‘Lily-- clothes’. She left a few outfits in the drawers of her dresser -- a few sweaters and pairs of pants. Just enough to last through the coming week until Bill and Fleur’s wedding -- the night they planned on escaping.

James owned a house in India. Not a home, not yet. But a house. Not one she had ever stayed in before. Whenever they had visited he had insisted on staying in his parents home, with it’s flat roof and large windows. But for a long-term stay, it wouldn’t be able to hold all of them. Not enough space, definitely not enough bedrooms, if they were looking to avoid unnecessary tension.

They had packed up plenty of the pictures lining the walls -- the books, from James’ study, the old posters hanging in the kids’ rooms. Lily had packed up tape and frames to spare, shrinking them down so she could fit as many as possible in one little cloth bag, tucked into the corner of this last box of clothes. The house they would be staying in might not be their home, but they could still make it feel that way.

* * *

Harry turned the page of the thick, perfectly stapled stack of papers he’d been mulling over since school had let out for the summer. Hermione’s list of supplies, thankfully, had been extensive, and Harry had set about gathering all the things he could without getting his parents’ attention during the constant commotion that was moving a family so large thousands of miles away from home. His parents were busy keeping Matt in good spirits, in between helping the other children pack their things away and throw away or donate the clothes, shoes and toys they no longer needed. Matt had never handled change well, and all the fuss wrapped up in a mood had set him on edge.

That had made it surprisingly easy to stow away the things she’d marked as his responsibility inside his trunk, which he’d thoroughly emptied and cleaned of all the rubbish that had accumulated there over six years at Hogwarts. Six years of Hogwarts. It felt odd not to be saying seven, seeing as he wasn’t returning to school. Seven was the goal, and finishing seven years was treated like a coming of age, in the Wizarding World, like a true entrance into adulthood rather than the symbolic one turning seventeen had been. Maybe he’d be able to graduate someday, once everything had been taken care of and Voldemort was dead in the ground, where he belonged. His mother would like that.

Harry continued marking items he’d found off the list as he looked over his shoulder for them in the trunk. Gloves, yes. Four pairs of thick pants, yes. Two thick jackets, suitable for wearing in the winter time, yes. He’d taken much of the things now tucked away in his trunk from the pile of clothes his parents had left outside their room, aimed for the donation bin. His father’s things were just slightly too big, but Harry was quite sure he’d grow into them, given enough time. Considering how long the search was likely to take, it was a safer bet than his own, even the newest of which had started to become a little short.

His father hadn’t said anything about the clothes going missing, though he also hadn’t noticed when Harry had borrowed his Order of the Phoenix shirt last summer. There was another hanging in his father’s closet now, precisely Uncle Sirius’ size -- Harry couldn’t imagine how he had gotten that, and wondered if, just as when Harry had seen it, a fresh wave of grief struck his father every time he opened his closet door.

Backpack with many pockets.

Harry tugged his day trip backpack out from under the bed, and eyed the dusty, red lump of zippered fabric critically. It had been magically repaired one too many times after mishaps had left it with broken zippers, tears in the fabric, or questionable stains marking its surface. The cloth was littered frayed edges that had never quite mended back together properly and many of the zippers stuck out at odd angles. It had been quite the travelling companion, in Harry’s younger days, and it fit all of the specifications Hermione had given -- it did have many pockets, and it was quite roomy, and the material had stood up to the tests of magic, time and weather many a time. He had no reason to believe it couldn’t do the trick again.

He pulled his wand out of his pocket and shrunk it down to the size of his hand before tucking it away into some large, ornate parchment envelope he’d nicked from the large pile of mail his mother had collected on the dining table downstairs. It closed neatly, and Harry called Hedwig, who had been sitting on the windowsill, staring mournfully out the window for lack of letters to deliver, to come take this one. She seemed almost gleeful, or as gleeful as an owl could be, as she flew over, holding out a claw for Harry to tie his letter, or package, technically, to.

“Good girl.” Harry said, smiling fondly at her as she hooted in excitement. “Go on to Ron’s. Find Hermione. She’ll know what to do with you.” She hopped onto his arm, and Harry walked over to the window. As soon as he pulled the pane aside, Hedwig threw herself out the gap, as if she’d been hungry for flight. Harry watched as she turned and flipped about in the sky like a child enjoying its freedom before setting off toward the Burrow like a woman on a mission.

“I might have one more letter left in me, by the time you come back.” He muttered to himself, as he shut the window softly, hoping that it hadn’t caught anyone’s attention. He hadn’t yet decided what to do with the cage, and simply threw a towel over it, hoping that he could pretend Hedwig had suddenly decided to take a nap, despite the amount of screeching she’d gotten up to not half an hour before because Drew had decided to drop something large in his room.

Harry sat down the chair by his desk and pulled a pen out of the cup of pens and mostly unsharpened pencils. He tapped the end of the pen on the desk once, twice, then found a sheet of notebook paper inside one of the many paper folders piled on the desk. His mother had asked him to sort through all the primary school assignments she’d saved over the years, surprisingly giving him power over what memories he wanted her to keep through the move. She obviously hadn’t anticipated that he’d hoard them all to himself and refuse to let her see them again. He’d hide them in the Muggle storage box, for her to find once he’d left.

Now, he had something more important to do.

“Dear Neville”, he scrawled upon the piece of paper, “It’s been a long time, and that’s entirely my fault. I really want to apologize for what I did. I won’t say it was the wrong choice for either of us, but with things going how they are, hopefully it is clearer why I did it. Feel free to ignore this, but I’d really like to talk to you again. There are hard things coming up, and I’d hate to face it without my oldest friend. From, Harry.”

He folded it up, dug a tattered envelope just large enough to fit the paper out of the pile of things he’d taken out of his trunk, and shoved the letter into it before he could doubt himself, sealing it with a flick of his wand.

When Hedwig came back, she would have something to deliver.

Hopefully it reached the right ears.

* * *

As his father had said, nights before, this house had really been kind to them, from the moment they’d moved in.

James didn’t remember that day, but he remembered growing up here, remembered sliding on bannisters, running through the hallways, and hiding in the pantry, much like his children had gotten to. They were all nearly grown now, the youngest of them teenagers, and it was odd to think about the children he remembered as infants in his arms, squalling for attention, as less than half a decade from adulthood. Even Madhu was looking his age, these days, long and lanky with the same truly awkward, squeaky voice James had been cursed with at thirteen.

James looked around his newly emptied study, the dark, wooden bookshelves his father had lovingly dusted much more frequently than necessary shrunk down to look like a peculiar collection of bookends. James had never seen this room so empty in his life -- it had either been full of books, while it was his father’s domain, children, or both. It felt odd, odder than looking at his emptied office had. Maybe it was because he remembered this room being full to the brim with something, even in those fuzzy, toddler memories that he wasn’t entirely sure hadn’t been told to him later.

Now, nearing forty and finally faced with the prospect of leaving the home he had grown up in forever, James found himself wishing that things hadn’t gone so horribly wrong so quickly. If only Voldemort had found the Sorcerer’s Stone later, or not at all. If only he hadn’t made that first Horcrux. James could’ve finished him off in Godric’s Hollow, and then no one would be bothering with another war. That wasn’t guaranteed, though -- James was of the opinion that for as long as the Dark Arts existed, as long as books about it and Dark Artifacts existed, someone would be muddling around in them, getting in above their head and starting more trouble than they intended. Or, perhaps, in Voldemort’s case, just as much trouble as they’d intended.

It was him, this time, that was getting in above his head. As much as he’d told Lily that things were better, and that he felt comfortable, he really was worried. It was one thing to accept something on paper, and another to see it in practice -- he’d sent plenty of pictures, once his relatives had warmed up to the idea, but he worried about how they would react to seeing his children in person. They could speak the language, he’d done that right, fairly fluently as well. Most of them were good enough at getting along with new people, and Anne, Drew and Harry would cover well enough for Matt and Sarah’s relative weakness in that area.

He had no idea what he was worried about.

Except, he did know what he was worried about.

He knew the words of the letter folded neatly upon his desk by heart.

> _I should be mad at you, but I’m not._
> 
> _You’ve done more than enough to anger me, but, as I get older, I understand why you did it. It must have been hard, doing this on your own. Of course, you weren’t alone, you had Lily with you, but being alone, without your family… I can’t imagine that. Send her my love as well. From what you’ve said, she seems to have been in a similar position._
> 
> _I don’t let just anyone get away with not writing me for twenty years, so consider yourself both special and yelled at. I’m eager to see you again, and meet these kids that I’ve been hearing so much about from my mother, especially the girls. I’m told I’ll find them familiar -- I can’t wait._
> 
> _Let me know when you’ve reached. I’ll come by._
> 
> _Much love,_  
>  _Vasanthi_

James didn’t know how to face her again, much as he didn’t know how to face any of his family. Not because of who he’d married, or because of the children he’d brought into the world, but because of how different a person he’d become, in the eighteen years since he’d seen them last. The James they knew was little more than a boy, newly seventeen and flush with the arrogance of youth, much younger, more reckless, and innocent than the thirty-seven year old war veteran they were getting back.

The First War, much to the surprise of everyone who had fought in it, had little international consequences, beyond small uprisings throughout Europe of satellite groups that had unwisely chosen to ally themselves with the Death Eaters. The seed of darkness that the Death Eaters rose out of existed everywhere, and James had no doubt that the potential for a worldwide uprising still existed -- he was just happy it hadn’t occurred any sooner, and that it wasn’t occurring now. But that lack of worldwide consequence had meant that others outside Europe didn’t understand how bad it had been inside it, let alone how bad it had been for those who had fought in England. It had been easy, to stop writing and calling, when they hadn’t understood the horrors he’d seen, the terror that had consumed him. Now, avoiding them would not be too easy.

Avoiding Vasanthi, in particular, would be harder. She’d always had a way of making her presence known in the most devious ways, of making her words stick uncomfortably in your head. Anne had reminded him of her intensely, from the moment she began speaking -- maybe that was why he’d taken so well to her, had kept her to himself and guarded her with her life until the second she’d gone away to school. And, just like Vasanthi, as soon as she was torn from his side, trouble took hold and turned her whole world upside down. It was almost as if there was a pattern, involving him and the lives of those he loved being completely torn apart.

James knew well enough that all these conspiracy theories were just an attempt at distracting himself from the truth -- he needed to get used to the idea that, in whatever form he came, his family was going to accept him now. And if they didn’t, it would mean nothing less than returning to the life he’d had until now. It could not be any worse than it was already, and judging by the few signals he’d been able to read through letters, it stood to get much better.

The prodigal son had stayed away long enough.


	2. A Letter And A Fallout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One friendship returns to its former glory (or close enough), and another one burns to ashes. Juxtaposition is an art form.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> Unfortunately, this is going to be the last chapter of Unusually Long Camping Trip for a couple weeks -- we've both got a lot of commitments, professional and otherwise, during the month of August, so the next Rewrite chapter will probably be published on September 1st. We won't be going back to Hogwarts, but at least we've got the date right!
> 
> Hopefully this is enough to tide you all over. We'll see you after the break. Thank you for sticking around this long and being so excited about this project -- it makes it infinitely easier for us to write it.
> 
> -S&L

“HARI POTTER!” Anne thundered through the house, her footsteps loud against the hardwood floors. “Amma said not to write anyone! Did you write someone?! What did you tell them? If the wizard cops come busting in because we’re fleeing the country and we all get arrested, I’m not going to be happy with you, young man!” She burst into the kitchen, waving the letter above her head.

Drew plucked it from her hands, ignoring her protesting shriek as he held it too high for her to snatch it back.

“It’s from Neville!” He gasped, whirling to look at his older brother. “When did you guys start talking again?”

“Neville?” Matt clambered out of his seat. “What did he say? I miss him.”

“Charu, leave the glassware alone and come make fun of Hari Anna with us.” Anne insisted, tugging gently at her sister’s ponytail.

Sarah, true to Anne’s words, had been quietly categorizing some dusty wine glasses they had found in the back of one of the cupboards that morning. She’d dug up one of her old clipboards, and was itemizing them all by size, shape, and brand instead of joining in on the fun.

“I don’t see why you want me to get involved.” Sarah said, with a sigh. “You know what I think, about all this.”

She looked truly exhausted -- more than the rest of them, Sarah had been fielding their parents’ increasingly ridiculous requests and helping them with the patience of a saint. Harry had joked, much to her displeasure, that Sarah, practically being an old lady herself, was simply getting along well with her kind. He’d gotten whacked on the seat of his pants with his father’s spatula, having not noticed his father was standing right behind him, and then reminded he was never too old for discipline, but certainly too old to be making fun of his siblings for sport.

Sarah, more than any of the rest of them, had been intensely opposed to the idea of him contacting Neville, after Matt had noticed Hedwig returning late at night when she stopped by to tap her claw on the glass of his window when she saw him awake, nose buried in a book, at his desk. Hedwig, like Harry, had always had a soft spot for Matt, and he should have known that would get her caught.

Once Anne had wormed the information that it was Neville he’d written out of him, thankfully not realizing that Hedwig had had an earlier, more crucial job to complete, she and Drew had set upon him with unprecedented glee, teasing him endlessly about wanting to get back with Neville (which he most certainly did not) and being in love with him again (which he most certainly wasn’t). It had felt normal, for a few minutes, despite taking place in the boxed up living room, all the photographs that littered the walls carefully wrapped and put away, until they’d all paused for a split second and took stock of their surroundings, the sight of this strange, empty carcass of the living room they’d played, screamed, and thrown up in, sometimes all at the same time, strangely sobering.

“Open it, Adi! I wanna know what Neville said!” Anne insisted, still standing behind her sister.

Harry sighed and easily plucked the letter from Drew’s fingers, tearing open the envelope in his eagerness to get at its contents. Neville, back when they had been close enough to write regularly, had always preferred lengthy replies to even the shortest of letters, would spend weeks crafting just the right turn of phrase to express his feelings exactly and often miss out on sending news in a timely fashion because of it. He had always been careful, and Harry wondered, as he summoned up the courage to read even just the first words, if he hadn’t taken much time solely because there wasn’t much to write other than “goodbye”.

“Read it out loud.” Drew insisted. “Or I’ll take it and read it myself.”

“Dear Harry”, Harry read, then paused.

Well, that was normal enough. Plenty of people started their letters off that way.

“Okay, now keep going, you giant weenie.” Drew said, hands on his hips.

“Don’t you have someone else to torment?” Sarah asked, a tinge of annoyance seeping into her voice.

“Nah,” Drew shrugged, “Shin-ji’s been too busy to write.”

“Carry on, then.” Sarah rolled her eyes.

“It was nice to hear from you.” Harry read, before the two could fight. They’d gotten closer, over the past year at Hogwarts, but still couldn’t stand being in close quarters for long without at least a half-hearted scrap or two. “I’ve missed being your friend a lot, definitely a lot more than I missed being your boyfriend. I’m not saying that to be mean -- I think both of us had a good time, but like you said, it’s good that it ended when it did. It feels weird to say that now, when I was so broken up over it before, but like you said -- it happened for a reason.”

“Okay, this is actually a lot sappier than I want.” Anne wrinkled her nose in a way that somehow made her look even more like Lily. “How am I supposed to make fun of you with this?”

“Shh, there’s more.” Drew said.

“We’ll be away for the summer -- Dad offered to plant sit for a colleague in Peru without asking Mum first, so he’s catching hell at the moment, but she’s always loved to travel, so things will work out.” Harry chuckled. That did sound awfully like Uncle Frank. “Please do write back. I’ve missed your letters. They’re always funny, even when what’s in them isn’t. Your friend, Neville.”

He folded it up, and shoved it into his pocket.

“There.” He said, crossing his arms. “Happy?”

“... That’s it?” Drew frowned. “That was….”

“Boring.” Anne sat down beside Sarah, looking like she was dangerously close to pouting. “Neville usually writes way more than that.”

“Tell him I said hello, when you reply.” Matt said, gently tugging at the sleeve of Harry’s shirt.

“Yeah.” Harry said, feeling markedly more confident in the fact that he’d reply than he had when he began reading the letter. “I’ll do that.”

* * *

Ron gently shut the door to his room after peering down the narrow staircase to make sure no one could overhear them. “Alright, I think we’re all set.” He said, leaning against the window frame. His room was cramped- barely fitting his bed and a dresser. Harry and Hermione were crowded together on his mattress, leaving Ron to stand. “How are you guys doing?”

“Well, me as a person?” Harry asked. “Or my family? Cause you’re getting two very different answers.”

“I mean, I imagine they’ll both be equally as dramatic.” Ron said, trying for a teasing tone.

“I’m fine. Wrote Neville for the first time since the breakup, so that was weird. Didn’t like that at first, but it ended up working out okay.” Harry nodded. “A time in my life that I surprisingly do not regret. That’s a first.”

Ron let out a low whistled, crossing his arms. “Well that really is new.”

“Do I even want to know what you got up to before I came along?” Hermione asked.

“No, Hermione, no you don’t.” Ron said sagely. “Some things are better lost to the sands of time.”

“He ate a lot of dirt.” Harry said, staring off into middle distance as he shook his head solemnly. “Mrs. Weasley told us that’s where the nutrients that help vegetables grow are, and young Ronald here had the bright idea that he could skip eating vegetables if he just ate the dirt. He said the dirt tasted better.”

“And you didn’t stop him?” Hermione frowned at Harry.

“Hell no!” Harry laughed. “Why would I?”

“I stand by what I said. It was scientifically sound! At least for a five year old.” Ron shrugged.

“Fine, it may have been, but--”

“Wait, can you actually get nutrients from dirt?” Ron’s eyebrows raised in surprise.

“No.” Hermione said, looking rather disappointed. “I’m-- I can’t believe you thought I’d side with you on that. I value your company, Ron, but not that much.”

“I value your company,” Ron repeated in a poor approximation of Hermione’s voice, “my dear, trusted business associate.”

“This is disgusting.” Harry piped up, grimacing. “I’m going to die immediately.”

“Good.” Hermione grumbled. “Leave us all in peace.”

“Saves us all a lot of trouble, doesn’t it?” Ron laughed.

“Send me mail in hell.” Harry sighed. “I want to know what the Voldemort Takeover is like. Pictures would be appreciated.” He grabbed Ron’s arm, feigning desperation. “Tell my mother I fought right to the very end.”

“I’ll always keep your memory in my heart.” Ron fake-sobbed, pressing a hand to his forehead.

“That’s -- that’s intense, mate.” Harry chuckled nervously. “Might want to cool down there.”

“I can’t believe I’m the third wheel in my own relationship.” Hermione said, smiling ruefully. “It’s not as if I wasn’t expecting it, but you don’t have to go and shove it in my face.”

“Love you most.” Ron said, leaning down to plant a kiss on her cheek.

“The most important thing, and the thing we should’ve been talking about all along, is whether we are still prepared to leave on August first.” Hermione said, ignoring Ron entirely in favor of focusing on the task at hand. However, judging by the soft smile on her face, she’d definitely heard him. Today is July twenty-third. We have nine days left to prepare. Now. Harry, have you brought over the trunk?”

“Yes ma’am.” Harry said, pulling the shrunken down trunk out of his trouser pocket and handing it to Hermione. “Everything on pages three, four, and twenty-seven, as requested.”

“Perfect.” Hermione said. “We’ll put these things into the hiding spot in Ron’s wall until they can be packed away into one of our backpacks. Speaking of which…” She reached under Ron’s bed, and pulled out Harry’s old backpack by the straps. It looked new, despite being nearly as old as Harry himself, and when he reached inside the compartments, he found that his hand never touched the bottom.

“Whoa.” Harry said, arm halfway inside his backpack. “Intense.”

“What would happen if we tried to climb inside?” Ron wondered.

“I’d rather not find out.” Hermione said. “Science may be worth some degree of sacrifice, but I’m certainly not sending either of you in there. Maybe Malfoy.”

“Human experimentation is not legal.” Harry said quickly. “Just reminding you, that’s all. Not that I think you actually would or that you haven’t already. I respect you and stuff, but that’s illegal.”

“Malfoy’s not human,” Ron said, “he’s, like… a ferret, or a mole or something.”

“You’re wrong.” Harry intejected. “He’s a demon.”

“Harry.” Hermione warned. “Be nice.”

“So Ron can say anything ‘cause he’s dating you and I have to be nice?” Harry scowled. “Of course he gets special privileges now. Twit. I hate him. I guess my siblings are my real best friend now.”

“You’ve outdone yourself.” Ron shoved at Harry’s shoulder with a snicker. “This is what you get for playing matchmaker, mate.”

“Poor me.” Harry shook his head. “All I wanted to do was make my friends happy. And I get this, in return. Truly is a cruel world.”

“Regardless of how cruel the world is”, Hermione cut in, “we’re definitely on track. Some things I’ve owl ordered should be on their way tomorrow, and I Apparated back home quickly to grab something from the post office.” She pointed to the edge of a white and blue cardboard package, which was just barely sticking out under the hem of Ron’s Chudley Cannons bedsheets. “That is our tent.”

“It’s ugly. And tiny.” Ron frowned. “Can’t we just take my dad’s? He won’t even notice it’s gone.”

“It has to be.” Harry shrugged. “Hermione wants it.”

“What’s that say about your opinion of me?” Ron stuck out his tongue.

“I was talking about the tent, mate, wow.” Harry laughed. “But if the shoe fits…”

Ron leapt forward, jokingly grabbing Harry in a headlock. Hermione quickly moved out of the range of the two boys, but they all froze when the door crashed open.  
“Harry Potter!” Ginny shouted, pointing accusingly at the tangle of limbs the best friends had become.

“What did I do?” Harry whined. “I’ve been here five minutes! I did nothing wrong! Except insult Ron a few times, but you do that too!” He kicked Ron off of him. “I am innocent and blameless!”

“Like hell you are!” She snapped, planting her hands on her hips. “What did you say to Sarah? She refuses to talk to me!”

“Nothing.” Harry said, confused. “As per usual. Oh, I said hello to her at breakfast and she glared at me like I’d just eaten the last bran muffin in front of her. That must’ve been it. Sorry for destroying your friendship.” He mimed gagging. “Who even likes bran muffins?”

“Oh will you shut up?” Ginny’s glare only intensified the more Harry talked. “Can’t you take anything seriously?”

“Okay, one of us is taking this way more seriously than she needs to.” Harry said. “Hint’s in the pronoun.”

“Oh, so Ron’s allowed to throw a fucking fit and it’s the end of the world, but the second I’m upset about my best friend not talking to me I’m ‘taking it too seriously’?!” Ginny looked positively murderous.

“I don’t know what’s happening.” Harry said, looking around the room in shock. “Is she even yelling at me anymore? I legitimately didn’t do anything.”

“Fuck you.” Ginny turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

“That… was an experience.” Harry said, looking rather surprised.

“I’m just glad it wasn’t me she was yelling at this time.” Ron shrugged.

“I spoke too soon about not regretting this time in my life, I think.” Harry sighed. “Well, never doing that again.”

* * *

“Well, young lady, you have some explaining to do.” Harry sat down at the end of Sarah’s bed with a thump, crossing his arms. “Ginny Weasley tried to kill me.”

“Good.” Sarah said, nonchalantly turning another page in her book. “You haven’t had a murder attempt in a few weeks. Keeps you on your toes.”

“She said you weren’t talking to her.” Harry said, moving a little closer. “What’s that about?”

Sarah set down her book with a sigh, rubbing her forehead. “It’s complicated.”

“Well, I’m always ready for complicated.” Harry shrugged. “What’s happening?”

“Ginny doesn’t get why I’m mad at her.” Sarah said. “And I don’t feel like explaining it. And because I felt my words did enough speaking and didn’t walk her through my entire thought process, she’s yelling now.” She scowled. “I don’t see how I can get much clearer than ‘it’s not safe for you to go back to Hogwarts, and as your best friend, I’d rather not have you there’.”

“Ooh. Okay.” Harry winced. That would be it.

Ginny, for all the years he’d known her, had never been one to take criticism well, especially criticism from those she loved, who she expected to be entirely on her side all the time, without a single doubt or question about her decisions. Of course, the Weasleys were the perfect fit for that attitude -- they were all or nothing, individually and as a family -- but Sarah, who was fond of poking holes in every plan just to account for every single possibility, was not. Harry found it nothing short of miraculous that they hadn’t fought over the safety of Hogwarts before, considering he and Sarah did so at least thrice a week.

“You’re on her side, aren’t you?” Sarah said, through gritted teeth.

“No, actually.” Harry said, spurred on by the look of surprise on Sarah’s face. “I’m on yours. It’s not safe to go back. I’ve told Neville, Ron and Hermione the same thing. Of course, Neville’s saying he’s got to go back, and Ron and Hermione are staying back for sure. So I guess two out of three isn’t that bad.”

“Lucky.” Sarah said gloomily. “I’m zero for one.”

“One for two.” Harry reminded her. “Kyung is leaving the whole country because of you. I’d say fifty percent isn’t bad, is it?”

“I guess not.” Sarah allowed. “I don’t know. She’s -- she’s my oldest friend, and she says all sorts of stuff about how things are getting scary and how she doesn’t know what’s going to happen, but when you give her a chance to take an out, she won’t. She just… insists upon just throwing herself into danger again and again and again and…” She trailed off, lips quivering. “You all talk about how it was for you, when she got possessed. I was eight years old and reading letters from my best friend that just got weirder and weirder until they stopped! Nobody ever thinks about that!” Her hands clenched into fists. “Forgive me if I don’t want to see it happen again.”

“You’re right.” Harry said, reaching out for her. “You’re right. She should’ve at least listened to you. And-- and-- I guess I never did think about how scary that was for you, huh?”

“You had other stuff on your mind.” Sarah shrugged, though she kept her eyes averted. “I don’t blame you. I just… I don’t understand why she’s so eager to get back there. Hasn’t it hurt all of us enough? Why can’t we just… move on? All of us?”

“We have a way out.” Harry said, after a few minutes’ thought. “We can leave the country and have somewhere to go, surrounded by people who care about us. I’m not saying that they don’t have that choice, because they really could go visit Charlie for as long as this takes to get straightened out, but the Weasleys are choosing to fight. This is their war, you know? So of course Ginny wants to help. And taking back Hogwarts is the first step.”

His father had begun talking about Hogwarts as if it were already lost, after submitting his resignation, and Harry had adopted the same way of thinking. With Dumbledore gone, the school governors, headed by Lucius Malfoy, were in power until a new Head was appointed, and Harry shuddered to think what convoluted legal language they’d march out to bar Muggleborn and, likely, half-blood students from attending next year. As Purebloods, both Neville and Ginny were uniquely protected, and yet, they were choosing to put themselves in danger.

Harry couldn’t understand it either.

“If it’s their war, then how come you’re getting involved?” Sarah asked, sounding rather small as she fought back tears. “You’re planning something. I know you are. You’ve been too quiet, it’s not right.”

“I’m not.” Harry said, with as much false conviction as he could muster. “Believe me, I’m not.”

Rather than outright saying she didn’t believe him, Sarah reached into the blue and gray backpack beside her bed and tugged out a shimmering length of cloth, folded neatly into a perfect square, and held it out to Harry. His father’s invisibility cloak. He’d been searching the study for it for years, and if he’d just thought to ask Sarah, he would’ve known where it was hidden.

“I think you’ll need this more than I do.” She said.

Harry took it, trepidation roiling in the pit of his stomach, as he watched Sarah wipe her tears away with the back of her hand.

“What about you?” He asked, feeling rather uncomfortable. “This is yours. Don’t you need it?”

“I’ve got nothing to hide from anymore.” There was no happiness in Sarah’s smile, just regret, and it broke Harry’s heart. “But you do."


	3. Arrivals and Departures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “To happier times.” Arthur raised his tea cup. “And making it to them.”
> 
> “And proper weddings.” James added, smiling at Bill and Fleur. “Instead of just sending your parents a thank you card you nicked off Moody’s desk with the words crossed out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry all! My Friday got really busy and I couldn't get the chapter up on time -- hopefully Saturday afternoon is just as good.
> 
> There's only minimal warnings this week -- the Potters visit the Dursleys, and things, as they usually do when the Dursleys are involved, turn ugly. Warnings for minor, but entirely merited, violence, racism (both overt and covert), and discussion of war in somewhat abstract terms. If you don't want to engage with that topic, you can skip the scene immediately after Sarah saying "Sometimes I hate the universe. It's always right."
> 
> Things start moving along next chapter, with a visit everyone would like to avoid, and a drastic change we wish we could have stopped.
> 
> -S

“Has anyone seen the rice cooker?” Lily asked as she dumped several tupperwares worth of food into the trash. “Did we pack it already?”

“No, we couldn’t have.” James said. “We needed the rice cooker to stay out until the last day. Did any of you put it away, kids?”

“No.” Harry said. “I don’t think Matt can lift the rice cooker, so he’s out.”

Drew flexed dramatically, planting a kiss on his bicep. “I could lift Matt and the rice cooker with one arm!” He declared.

“Of course, buggy, but did you move it?” Lily asked.

“Nah. Maybe Anne?”

“Haven’t touched it!” She piped up from the next room.

“Not me.” Sarah said. “I wouldn’t touch it.”

“Well, it grew legs and walked away.” Harry said. “Or Appa put it up somewhere high so we wouldn’t accidentally move it and then forgot. Again.”

“I wouldn’t--” James began to argue, before spotting the rice cooker atop the refrigerator. “I did, I guess.”

Lily patted him on the arm as she passed, a full garbage bag held in her hand. “That’s the man I married.” She teased.

“You wanted to, at some point, so that’s a relief.” James chuckled, getting the rice cooker down. He set it on the floor, beside an outlet, then went hunting for the nearly empty five pound bag of rice they’d bought a few weeks before, intending for it to be their last.

Anne entered from the living room, holding Matt’s hand in her own. He had been taking the move particularly hard- with all of his usual hiding places free from the clutter that had filled them for years, they felt too unfamiliar to provide any comfort. He’d taken to sitting behind the couch, and his sister had just spent the better part of an hour trying to coax him out.

“Are we making lunch?” She asked, running her free hand through her hair. Lily reentered behind them, planting a kiss on Matt’s head before skirting around the pair.

 

“Yep.” Harry said. “Or Appa is, once he finds the rice, realizes he’s hidden something else, and then gives up.”

“What’s the plan anyway?” Sarah frowned. “If Amma’s thrown out the food in the fridge, then are we leaving today? It’s only the thirtieth.”

“We’re going to the Weasleys tomorrow,” Lily said, taping up the last of the kitchen utensils for transport. “We’ll stay over, and then leave during the wedding. We’ll have a few portkeys hidden around the yard, so we don’t all leave at once and tip everyone off.”

“What about my birthday?” Harry whined, rolling about on the floor like a dissatisfied toddler. It earned a few laughs, so he’d accomplished his purpose. “Why do only my things get ruined? Not fair. Next time, evil can rise at Christmas.”

“We already have to share our birthday between three of us and a white person holiday.” Anne said, nudging Harry with her foot. “We get the short end of the stick every year.”

“Fine. February. Charu doesn’t even like birthdays.” Harry argued. “Two birds, one stone. Done.”

“We can still celebrate your birthday, Hari.” Lily assured. “There will be plenty of time for a party once we’re out of the country.”

“Excellent.” Harry beamed. “I love parties.”

“Especially when they’re about you.” Charu grimaced. “Can’t imagine why.”

“Because he’s a self-absorbed toddler?” Anne suggested, mostly joking.

“A self-absorbed nearly seventeen year old.” Harry corrected. “Get your facts right.”

“Spiritually, you never made it past three.” Anne corrected him.

“If you’d made it past three mentally, you’d know spiritually wasn’t the right word.” Harry said, with a grin. “Boom. Big brother wins.”

Anne’s face screwed up in a strange mixture of anger and fear before Lily placed a hand on her shoulder.

“That’s enough, you two, we have a busy day ahead of us. There’s still a lot that needs to be done before we can leave.”

“Like what?” Sarah asked. “Find Appa, first of all. Adi can do that, right?”

“I will return victorious.” Drew assured them seriously, running out of the room to find James, and hopefully the rice their father had been looking for.

“Second item on the list was make sure all the cupboards are empty.” Sarah carried on, a look of mild annoyance on her face. “Well, use those God given giraffe limbs for something, Hari, we haven’t got all day. You heard Amma, we’ve got to be ready to go sooner than later.” When Harry remained lying on the floor, Sarah took a deep breath. “Get up or I’ll make you. Right now.”

“Okay, okay, fine.” Harry scrambled up to his feet and began checking cupboards for bowls or cups his father might have missed.

“Anju”, Sarah said, markedly more gently than she’d spoken to Harry. “We’ve gone through the rooms we use, but not the ones we don’t. That’s a bit of an adventure, for you and Madhu. Sounds fun?”

Anne blinked up at her sister, seemingly surprised by her suggestion. In the months following the end of the last school year, she’d been improving emotionally from the toll of the horcrux she’d worn for nearly a year, but she often reacted badly to her own temper. Cooling down in private, with Matt as company, was the perfect way to distract her.

“Yeah, of course.” She nodded, taking Matt’s hand again and leading him from the kitchen.

“Well, Amma, what else?” Sarah asked, standing at attention. “There’s got to be something for me to do.”

“Sometimes I feel like you’re a better parent than I am.” Lily laughed, smoothing a hand through Sarah’s hair.

“All you need is time, patience, and an eternal need to blame Hari for everything.” Sarah said. “Parenthood doesn’t seem so hard after all.”

“Can we do that without the blaming?” Harry asked, standing on the tips of his toes to try and see into a cabinet even his father needed a stool for. He had no idea why someone had built something up there, if not to hide things that they wanted no one to see.

“Why fix what isn’t broken?” Lily shrugged.

“You’re all horrible.” Harry shook his head. “I’m gonna move out as soon as we come home.”

“Who’d live with you?” Sarah asked, genuinely curious.

“Ron and Hermione.” Harry said, brimming with confidence. “They love me more than you do.”

“He isn’t wrong.” Sarah said. “Sometimes I wonder how they do it.”

“Endless patience.” Lily said sagely.

“I can’t imagine Hermione’s not smart enough to find a way out of their friendship.” Sarah shrugged. “Maybe she’s staying for Ron. That’s almost worse, actually.”

“Why wouldn’t she be staying for me?” Harry asked. “I’m a great friend!”

“You’re constantly getting her into trouble she doesn’t want to be in, for one. If you want more reasons, you’re a distraction from school work, you lack direction in life, and you’re constantly doing impulsive, ill advised things like contacting your ex-boyfriend after being told not to send letters to anyone.” Sarah said. “I think any one of those things would be a bad reason to hang around someone. All of them at once? Well, that’s something else.”

“She criticizes me because she loves me.” Harry said, storming out of the kitchen. “She criticizes me because she loves me. She criticizes me because she loves me.”

“Men are expendable.” Sarah said, climbing up onto the counter.She was a little too old to be doing so, but on the last day in their childhood home, no one was begrudging any of the children what little comfort they could find. “I wouldn’t wreck my life for him if I got money for it.”

“And that’s why you’re stuck with him.” Lily laughed. “God made you siblings because he knew you wouldn’t take money to do it.”

“Sometimes I hate the universe.” Sarah scowled. “It’s always right.”

* * *

“Why do we have to go to the Dursleys’ now?” Harry groaned, dragging his feet as they made the now familiar trek up Privet Drive. He knew well why they were here -- the Death Eaters hadn’t spared Muggles in the First War, and his mother’s sister and her family being so closely related to them would mark them as guilty before they even opened their mouths. Even though the Dursleys hated the Potters, they were guilty by association in the Death Eaters’ eyes.

“We owe it to them, Hari.” His father said, unnaturally solemn. “Whether they like us or not, we owe it to them to give them the best chance at life they can have.”

“Not that they’ve done a very good job with the shot they’ve had so far.” Lily mumbled, blowing a strand of hair from her face. “But no matter what she is, Petunia is still my sister.”

“So… we’re saying goodbye?” Matt frowned from his place at James’ side. “Forever?”

“We are.” James nodded. “We’ll see them again.” He didn’t sound convinced. “Don’t worry about it, Madhu. It’ll be okay.”

Matt stared up at Number 4 Privet Drive, obviously unsettled by his father’s platitude. “... Okay.” He mumbled.

“I mean, it’s not like we even like it here.” Anne said, crossing her arms uncertainty. “Well, we don’t even like them… Their house is okay.”

“Do we get the house?” Sarah asked. “If they die?”

“Oh my god.” Harry swallowed down a giggle. “What the hell, Charu? Seriously?”

“I’m trying to lighten the mood.” Sarah said, as if she hadn’t just asked about property inheritance in the event of her aunt and uncle’s untimely death. “I thought it would be funny.”

“I mean we only have two houses for you guys to inherit.” Lily shrugged. “Two of you will have to go without, even if we take their house.”

“Madhu can live in my closet.” Drew decided after a moment. “I don’t think he’ll mind.”

“Dudley’s got first dibs.” Harry pointed out. “That’s the legal term. Dibs.”

“Amma, you’ve miscounted. You have five kids, not four. Who’s already been excluded?” Sarah asked, eyes gleaming. She was always quick to pounce on a mistake, whether intentional or unintentional, milking it for all it was worth. “I bet it’s Hari. Can you imagine him living on his own? He’ll be bothering Amma and Appa forever.”

“No, honey, if we take Aunt Petunia’s house then we have three for you to inherit, if we die.” Lily said, gesturing to James at her side. “So that’s three houses.”

“I thought we weren’t supposed to assume they were going to die.” Harry said, feigning innocence. “Amma’s being mean.”

“Now he’s out, right?” Sarah sighed, exasperated. “He’s got to be out now.”

“Definitely out.” Anne agreed with a nod. “Who gets what house?”

“Can I have the Godric’s Hollow one?” Drew asked.

“You can hash that out once we’re dead.” Lily said, patting at his shoulder. “For now we have to deal with the Dursleys.”

“Who’s knocking the door?” James asked. “Petunia’s seen us through the window already, so she’ll have words with us about how long we’ve been standing in her driveway.” A frown began to crease his brow, but he took a deep breath, whispering something to himself and nodding slowly before letting the tension melt out of his body. “Right. Kids, go ahead.”

“I figure we stand here long enough for the neighbors to gossip.” Anne said, hands on her hips. “Serves them right for being nosey.”

Matt reached up, gently tapping his fist against the wood. It opened within seconds, revealing Petunia’s pinched face. “What are you doing here?” She asked waspishly. 

“We’ve come for a visit.” James said, trying to retain his composure. “It’s an important one, so…” He looked back over his shoulder at Lily. “If you’ll let us in, we’ll settle this quickly.”

“Well I certainly won’t have you loitering on my doorstep any longer.” She sniffed, ushering them inside. 

James gritted his teeth at the word loitering, but walked into the house nonetheless, Lily and the children pouring in behind him like a tidal wave. They proceeded to the living room, all the Potters behaving as if they were attending a funeral, to find Dudley and Vernon sitting on the couch and an overstuffed armchair, respectively. Vernon lowered his newspaper, glowering at the sight of his in-laws. 

“Vernon. Nice to see you.” James managed a half-sincere smile. “We’ve got some business to discuss. Kids, if you don’t mind.”

“Dudley, we’re meant to play with you.” Sarah deadpanned, sounding like she’d been plucked right out of a horror movie. “What games do you like to play?”

“Uh.” Dudley, who had grown into something of a lumbering figure in his teenage years, slowly looked at his father as he got to his feet. “Basketball, I guess? I’ve got a hoop out back…”

“That sounds wonderful.” Harry cut in, before Sarah could do any more damage. “Could you show us how to play? We don’t… err, um, we don’t have basketball.” He cast a sideways glance at Uncle Vernon. 

“Uh, yeah, I suppose so.” Dudley nodded, awkwardly motioning for his cousins to follow him through the kitchen and out the back door. Distantly, the adults could hear him asking the Potter children why they had decided to visit so suddenly before the door shut behind them. 

“You don’t usually send off the little monsters so early.” Vernon squinted suspiciously, his beady eyes nearly disappearing with the motion. 

“I wish we were here under better circumstances.” James said, slowly gearing up to reveal their true purpose. He looked hesitant, reinforced by the way he kept looking at his wife, as if she had all the answers he sought. More telling, however, was the way he’d let Vernon calling his children monsters slide right off him, not even worthy of notice. “But we’ve got important business to discuss.”

“Look.” Lily stepped forward, squaring her shoulders. “Remember what I told you seventeen years ago? Here’s speech number two. Get out before you get killed.”

Petunia’s distinctly unimpressed expression moved towards pure anger. “Oh not this nonsense again!” She snapped. 

“The war’s back on.” James said. “We’re leaving Thursday. I suggest you make plans to do the same. Sooner or later, they’ll come knocking. You don’t want to be here when they do.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Vernon rumbled, getting to his feet. “Nothing happened the last time you came knocking with your ludicrous orders, and nothing is going to happen now!”

“Don’t be dense!” Lily raised her voice, causing Vernon to gape at her. “You only managed to get out without a scratch last time on pure luck, same as us! It’s not going to last for long.”

“There’s more of them this time. And they know who we are, this time around. They’ve been watching for seventeen years, Vernon.” James wrung his hands. “We’ve visited you at least seventeen times, in that time. Make what you want of it, but they’ll be hard pressed to believe you don’t know where we are. And besides, you’re guilty of a crime by virtue of existing, in their book.”

“We’re not the only ones.” Vernon’s voice was filled with venom, spittle flying from his lips. 

“At least consider it.” James said, smile stretched tight across his face, cracking at the edges. “That’s all we ask. That you make the responsible choice for your family. For your son.”

“I certainly don’t think you have any right to judge the way we raise our son!” Petunia said shrilly. 

“Yeah, well, we have four more than you, so maybe we’ve got more experience.” Lily spit out.

“No one is judging anything.” James said, trying to settle the situation as always. “It’s-- There’s bad things afoot. People are disappearing, like they did last time. People… People have turned up dead.”

“Your people.” Petunia sniffed, the unsaid good riddance hanging heavy in the air. 

“I’m a witch, Petunia.” Lily reminded her. “That makes you our people, as much as both of us hate it.”

“And being our people isn’t the safest thing to be, right now.” James said. “Take an extended vacation. Go somewhere nice. Visit the continent. Just… don’t be here when they start looking for you, that’s all we ask.”

Petunia turned, angrily patting down her apron. “I cannot believe you.” She hissed, eyes latching onto her sister. “How many times have I asked you to keep your freakish life away from us? And now you come in here- you come into my home threatening me?!”

“I’ll show you a threat, Tuney.” Lily’s eyes narrowed. “Can’t you just listen to me for once in your life?”

“Lily.” James said softly, a knowing look on his face. After nearly eighteen years of marriage, and a few more of friendship, however tentative, he’d learned well what every one of the millions of expressions Lily Evans was capable of meant, for better and for worse. And he knew this one -- Lily was out for blood, and he could try to stop her, but it wouldn’t work. “Reconsider what you’re about to do.”

“I’ve been considering it for a long time.” She hissed, causing her sister to shriek loudly. 

“I think I’ve listened to you long enough!” She reached out suddenly, grabbing Lily’s shoulder and turning her to face the front door. “You can raise your little barbarians however you want, but don’t you dare come into my home and try to ruin my life again!”

Lily seemed to hesitate for a moment, either to truly consider what she was thinking, or perhaps to just let her rage fully set in. She turned quickly, her fist solidly connecting with Petunia’s face and sending her sprawling. “I have never done anything but try and love and protect you, you self-absorbed, racist BITCH!” 

Petunia gaped up at her sister, a bony hand cradling her jaw. Even Vernon had frozen in his chair, his purple face turning an even stranger color. 

“We’re leaving. And if you know what’s good for you, you will too.” Lily hissed.

“Do it for your son. We’re doing it for our kids.” James said, reaching out for Lily’s hand to squeeze it tight. He wasn’t quite sure whether he was preventing Lily from throwing a second punch or supporting his wife, but either or both was more than good enough for him. “You can call them whatever you want, but at least they’ll be safe. If you stay here, I guarantee you that you can’t say the same for Dudley. There’s no luck, this time. The only way they’ll find you quicker is if you invite them in.” He scowled. “Come on, Lily. Let’s get out of here.” 

Lily didn’t wait for her sister’s response, instead grabbing James by the elbow and moving for the backdoor, where the children had disappeared. 

“We’ll see ourselves out.” She said acidically. 

“Please do.” Petunia spat. “And don’t bother coming back here again.”

* * *

Harry ran up to the front door of the Burrow, knocking on the door excitedly before looking back over his shoulder.

His parents, holding hands as per usual, were bringing up the rear, Sarah and the triplets sandwiched between him and them, trudging along through the high grass in varying degrees of annoyance. Anne followed behind him, tugging at the sleeves of her dress, Drew hot on her heels. Sarah and Matt, heads bent close together, were discussing something rather heatedly, paying no attention to how far ahead or behind they were of anyone. Sarah walked right into Drew while arguing a point, and Harry laughed, but only for a second, as Sarah turned a scorching glare on him that Harry thought could melt him, if she tried hard enough. He turned around to face the door, feeling sufficiently admonished.

Harry could hear the inner workings of the Burrow through the worn wooden door, could almost see the entryway in his mind’s eye -- it had only been a little over a week since he’d been here, but he’d found himself missing it, maybe because his own home had been slowly stripped of the personality that had once defined it, the personality that the Burrow was bursting at the seams with. He’d often found that houses reflected the family in them -- without the ever present mess, the random bursts of noise, and the supercharged enthusiasm that seemed to be charmed into every inch of the house, the Burrow wouldn’t truly be the Weasleys’ home. It wouldn’t feel right, and Harry shuffled his feet uncomfortably at the reminder of the sight he’d woken up to this morning -- his childhood bedroom bare, but for the painted walls, all of his furniture shrunken down and hidden away.

The door swung open to reveal George, an undone bowtie held in one hand. He thrust it at Harry with barely a glance. “Here, you know how to tie this?” He asked. “Mum told me to figure it out without magic if I was going to make fun of dad for trying it the muggle way.”

“I figure you put it in a knot and then try your best.” Harry nodded seriously. “That’s my best guess.”

“There’s probably a spell for that.” Matt pointed out, seemingly having tuned into the conversation a sentence too late.

“Oh, I can do it.” Drew stepped around Harry, reaching out for the bowtie. He looped it around George’s neck, and Harry realized with a start that he didn’t even have to stoop down for him to reach.

“Buggy, when did you learn to do that?” Lily smiled, obviously pleased when she saw him easily tie off the bowtie.

“I know all sorts of things.” He said with a shrug.

“He read a book.” James said, bursting with pride. “I love him so much. I don’t know what book it was, but I’m so proud of him.”

“Drew reads a lot, Appa.” Matt said, tugging at his father’s sleeve. “I got him a bunch of comic books for our birthday, remember?”

“What comic book has that in it?” James asked, truly curious.

“Well-”

“Potters!” Fleur appeared behind George, gently moving past him in order to place two kisses on either of Harry’s cheeks, moving to do the same to the rest of his family next. Matt blushed darkly, and Anne giggled, seemingly pleased with the greeting. “Welcome, welcome, we are so glad you could come!”

“Hey.” Bill said. He was still as tall and lanky as he always had been, his cheekbones more defined and his jawline sharper than ever. His red hair still fell into his eyes just the right amount, his ponytail shorter than Harry remembered it. The most obvious difference between the Bill of Harry’s memories and the man that stood before him were the scars that ran down the side of his face, just barely healed a month after Greyback’s attack. “How are you kids doing?”

“We’re doing alright.” Harry said, trying desperately not to stare. He hadn’t really seen Bill awake, as his family had left quickly after the Weasleys had began fighting, and had only seen Ron, Ginny, and Arthur at Dumbledore’s memorial. “Everything’s good in the Potter house. No drama or anything. Very average.”

“You’re wondering why Ron hasn’t popped up yet, aren’t you?” Bill asked with a smirk.

“Yeah, a little bit.” Harry admitted. “He’s probably off spending time with his girlfriend or something.” He rolled his eyes. “I don’t see the point of--”

“The point of what?” Hermione squeezed herself through the gap between Bill’s arm and the doorway.

“The point of my best friends spending time without me, that’s all.” Harry hugged Hermione as tightly as he could. “Oh well. One for two.”

“I remember having friends. That was nice, before I got stuck with you.” Lily nudged her husband. “Watch out, Fleur.”

“I barely talk to anyone in this country.” Fleur waved her hand. “Being able to talk to Bill every day is a dream come true.”

“That’s what marriage is about, kids.” James grinned. “Commitment and remembering to talk to each other every day.”

“Do you do that?” Sarah asked her father.

“Sometimes.” James said. “We’re working on it.”

“We’ve been working on it for almost two decades now.” Lily nodded sagely. “It’ll work itself out eventually.”

“And we’re still married and loving it, so the work’s just bonus fun at this point.” James added. “Right, come on, we’ve stood outside long enough.”

Harry and Hermione ran in, once Bill had decided to lean against the opposite side of the doorway, and Sarah followed right behind them. James nudged each of the triplets until they followed the other kids inside, looking over his shoulder at the vast sea of grass they’d come from. He was looking for something, that was for sure, and Bill mirrored his worried expression as he stared out into the grass as well.

“James?” Lily paused, halfway through the door. “You waiting for something?”

“I think Bill and I are going to keep watch for a bit.” James said, shooting a look at Bill, who awkwardly stumbled down the steps like a schoolboy, wand in hand. “Talk about some man stuff, hm? Marriage and all.”

“Yeah.” Bill said, though his words were largely unconvincing. “We’ll be alright, Mrs. Potter, don’t worry about us.”

Lily stared at them for a moment, before she sighed. “Alright. Be careful, boys.” She murmured, closing the door behind her.

“Something wrong, Mr. Potter?” Bill asked, frowning.

“I think we spent too long outside.” James said as he drew his wand, eyes still focused on the softly waving grass before him. “Come on, Bill. Walk with me. Might as well talk marriage stuff, now that we’ve said we will.”

“Yes sir.”

* * *

“It’s nice to be around some adults for once.” Lily leaned back into the couch, a mug of tea in her hands.

Molly let out a sigh, gently batting Bill’s shoulder as she passed his chair. “Adults! This is my baby boy, that’s what he is.” She said.

“Now, Molly, you can’t avoid it much longer, he’s getting married in two days.” Arthur teased, nudging his wife with his shoulder. “Bill’s been a man grown for a few years now. It’s time you caught up to the idea.” He looked over at James and Lily, a knowing expression on his face. “You’ll be dealing with this soon enough. Our boys are still small, of course, but their time is coming too.”

“I know.” Lily laughed. “Harry is turning seventeen tomorrow- I don’t really know how to deal with that.”

“Seventeen.” James shook his head. “Hard to imagine what we were even like, seventeen years ago.” He laughed. “I don’t think I’d get along well with 1980 James, that’s for sure.”

“I’d punch 1980 Lily in the face.” Lily agreed sagely, prompting a startled laugh from Molly.

“I wouldn’t go that far.” She said, pressing a hand to her chest.

“As someone who was punched in the arm by 1980 Lily”, James interjected, “although under stressful and totally understandable circumstances, I’m going to say please don’t try it, because she’s got a hell of a right hook.”

“Well I’ve had seventeen years of practice since then.” She held up a fist. “I think I can take her.”

“Carry on.” James put his hands up. “Whatever you want, love.”

Lily laughed, leaning over to press a kiss to the corner of James’ mouth as Fleur entered the room, taking a seat on the arm of Bill’s chair.

“Love in the time of war.” James said, assuming the most pretentious tone he could. “Isn’t that right, kids?”

“That is why we are getting married now.” Fleur hummed, resting her head on top of Bill’s. “We hope to bring everyone as much joy as we have found in each other when they need it most.”

“That’s sweet.” James smiled. “See, Lily, we need to come up with something that cute. We’ve told the kids the real story, but someday, we’re going to have grandchildren that need to be lied to. Gotta get the story straight before they start turning up.”

“I rather like our story.” Lily hummed into her tea.

“It’s unique.” James admitted.

“And you had the baby afterwards, which is what cou-- Hey!” Arthur pouted, looking quite like Ron for a moment, as Molly swatted his hand. “Molly!”

Molly harrumphed. “Don’t be like that. Honestly. Don’t listen to a word he says, you lot.”

“Any words of wisdom?” Bill asked, spinning his empty glass around in his hand. He looked like a child, in the flickering light of the fire, amusing himself in the simplest of things. All of the adults in the room had watched Bill grow up, had seen him go from a self-assured but rather twitchy boy of eleven to a Prefect, and then a Head Boy, before taking Gringotts by storm. To any of them, the idea of Bill, who they all still thought of as a child, getting married was inconceivable, but it was happening whether they liked it or not, and sooner than later.

“Maybe wait till after the war is over to have a baby?” Lily laughed sheepishly.

Bill laughed. “We’ll wait on that one for sure.”

“Not a good environment for little ones, but my fingers are crossed for afterwards.” Fleur laughed.

“Ah, you’re young, that’ll come easily.” James chuckled. “I mean, look at us. Five kids.” He shook his head. “They’re halfway grown up now, so that’s taken the pressure off some, but before? Back when they were all small? Wow. That was really something. Don’t know how we survived, really.”

“Don’t even joke about another one, honestly.” Lily waved a hand. “Stop at three. Two if you can swing it.” She said, pointing at the laughing couple.

“Never have two under two at the same time.” James added. “That’s a mistake. You think you can do it, but you can’t. They’re always screaming and crying and pissing on everything. We’re experts. We had four under two for about a year and it was the worst.”

“Any advice that isn’t baby related?” Bill asked. “Mum’s already given us the rundown on that front. Not that we haven’t learned a lot now, because she never mentioned this stuff.”

“I think Fred and George were so difficult that nothing else seemed hard afterward.” James suggested. “That’s the guess I put money on, at least. Sirius had two galleons on short term memory loss.”

“You had bets going on my parents?” Bill asked, looking rather scandalized.

“Listen, listen, we were all what, nineteen during the height of the war? Almost a decade younger than you were. We had to have some fun.” James said. “And Fabian and Gideon being who they were, poor Molly got made into a target of the jokes often.” He sighed. “We were Harry’s age when we joined the Order, weren’t we?”

“I joined right out of school.” Lily nodded. “A… a lot of my friends had been going missing, and it was either run back to the muggle world or do something about it. So I found the nearest group of people who wanted to punch You-Know-Who in the face and joined up.”

“How about you?” Bill asked James.

“Morning of graduation.” James said. “Walked up to Dumbledore’s office at half past six in the morning, woke the poor man up from what was probably the only sleep he’d gotten that night, and told him I was joining up. I’d had a nasty fight with my mum about it the night before. She didn’t want me joining up, said it was too much trouble for a boy my age. But people I cared about were getting hurt. I didn’t see any sense in holding off any longer. Told her they should’ve raised me like Malfoy, if they didn’t want me fighting, and that ended that argument nicely.”

“Smart woman.” Molly hummed approvingly. “On all counts, really. God knows I don’t want my children in the middle of all the fighting…”

“She was, very much so.” James nodded. “That’s one thing you don’t pick up until late, so I’ll remind you now, Bill. Your mother’s smarter than you think she is. Pay attention to the people who’ve lived through this before. If you’ve decided you’ll be in the thick of it, learn from those with experience to back up their words.”

“You’re lucky, that way.” Arthur said to Lily, suddenly looking rather deflated. “Yours are too young to join the effort. Harry’s not even seventeen until tomorrow.”

“Well if I wasn’t thinking about it before I sure am now.” Lily groaned. “He isn’t allowed to join up. I just… can’t deal with the thought of it- not right now.”

“He won’t.” James said, with confidence. “We’ve talked about it, him and me. He’s not joining up.”

“Wait, when was this?” Lily pulled back to look at James.

“I had to make sure.” An edge of pain ripped through James’ words, hidden just as quickly as it had surfaced. “You’ve got to know those things.”

“... Yeah, of course.” She murmured.

“To happier times.” Arthur raised his tea cup. “And making it to them.”

“And proper weddings.” James added, smiling at Bill and Fleur. “Instead of just sending your parents a thank you card you nicked off Moody’s desk with the words crossed out.”

A round of laughter passed through the room, warm and comfortable. And for a moment they forgot about the war, and simply focused on the upcoming wedding.

For a moment, they were able to be happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We promised warnings for next week's chapter, "Danger Strikes Close To Home", in the tumblr announcement that it was coming out, so here's all we could think of -- intimidation of a barely legal adult by an authority figure, non-graphic discussion of death and distribution of a dead person's possessions, a violent attack, implied death and murder, war, and, as always, deeply traumatized adults and children reacting to a stressful and upsetting situation. 
> 
> If any of these things bother you, please contact us directly for a quick summary instead of reading the chapter next Friday. Your safety comes before reading the story as it's written.
> 
> -S


	4. Something Old, Something New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The more he thought about it, the more he realized -- the little seeds of personality he’d seen in them as little kids had grown into saplings, still pliable, but tall and strong, too green to be broken. He hoped that would last a little longer, the few shreds of innocence he’d left them keeping their smiles on their faces for just a few seconds more.
> 
>  
> 
> There would be few smiles after tonight. He didn’t have to think too much to know that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: intimidation of a barely legal adult by an authority figure, non-graphic discussion of death and distribution of a dead person’s possessions, a violent attack, implied death and murder, war, and, as always, deeply traumatized adults and children reacting to a stressful and upsetting situation.

Harry’s birthday was the day before the wedding, and he was surprised to find that Mrs. Weasley had not only put together a veritable feast, but had baked him a large birthday cake in the shape of a snitch. It sat in the center of the tables that they had all set up in the garden, the people closest to him in the world crowded around. 

 

The air of cheer was silenced when a streak of light came flying across the yard and leapt onto the table. It formed into a silver weasel- Arthur’s patronus. It stood back on it’s hind legs and spoke in his voice.

 

“Minister of Magic coming with me.”

 

It dissolved into silver mist, leaving an awkward silence hanging over the table. “The Minister of Magic?” Fleur finally spoke up from her seat beside Bill. “Whatever for?”

 

There was no time to discuss the matter, however, as a second later Mr. Weasley apparated into view, striding through the gate with Rufus Scrimgeour at his side. He looking grim and craggy, his time in office seemed to have aged him immeasurably.

 

“I apologize for the intrusion,” he said, eyeing the large cake at the center of the table, “especially now that I see I’m crashing a party…”

 

“I’m sure you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t important.” Lily said, folding her hands in her lap. 

 

“Of course.” He agreed. “I require a private word with you three.” He turned to look at Harry, Ron, and Hermione in turn, who stared back at him in surprise.

 

“Us three?” Harry asked. “Are you sure? We haven’t done anything illegal in months.” 

 

Scrimgeour frowned.   
  
“Ever.” Harry corrected himself. “I meant ever.”

 

“What for?” Ron asked suspiciously.

 

“I can only tell you once we’re somewhere more private. Is there such a place?” He asked Arthur, who nodded nervously.

 

“The, uh, the sitting room should do?”

 

“Your son, Ronald, can lead the way. I won’t need you to accompany us.” He said to Arthur. Harry watched him exchange a worried look with his wife as the three of them got to their feet, filing back into the Burrow. 

 

As they followed the Minister to the sitting room, Harry’s mind was abuzz. What did the Minister need him for? Why were Ron and Hermione in trouble as well? Had the Ministry caught on to what they were planning to do? They’d been so careful, using code words in all their correspondence and keeping all potentially dangerous information to themselves. Hermione had yelled at him and Ron about the importance of secrecy and making sure all their communication appeared strictly mundane on countless occasions, as she was convinced that their mail was likely being watched, seeing as the Ministry had not been fond of Harry for quite some time now and both Ron and Hermione were known to be close to him. Had he gotten them caught? Was that why their parents had been told to stay out of the conversation?

 

Scrimgeour didn’t speak as they walked through the cluttered kitchen and into the sitting room. Although the garden had been decorated with glowing golden light, it was rather dark inside, and Ron fumbled for a moment with one of the oil lamps on the sitting table. As everyone else took a seat.

 

“I have a few questions for the three of you, and I imagine this will be easier if we do it one-by-one. Ronald, why don’t we start with you?” Scrimgeour said. “You two may wait upstairs.”

 

“We aren’t going anywhere.” Hermione said indignantly, taking Ron’s hand as he sat beside her. “You can speak to us together or not at all.”

 

The Minister gave her a cold, appraising look, before seemingly deciding it wouldn’t be worth it to fight her. “Alright. Together, then.” He shrugged. “I’m here because of Albus Dumbledore’s last will and testament.”

 

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all glanced at each other in confusion.

 

“All of us are in it?” Ron asked. “Hermione and I, too?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“But Dumbledore died over a month ago! Aren’t wills supposed to be read immediately after someone dies or something?” Harry demanded. “I mean, it would make sense, if they had stuff in there about their funeral and the like.”

 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Hermione spoke before Scrimgeour could. “They wanted to examine whatever he’s left us. You had no right to do that!”

 

“We had every right.” Scrimgeour answered dismissively. “The Decree for Justifiable Confiscation gives the Ministry the power to confiscate the contents of a will--”

 

“That law was created to stop wizards passing on dark artifacts.” Hermione cut in. “The Ministry is supposed to have powerful evidence that the deceased’s possessions are illegal before seizing them! Are you trying to tell me Dumbledore was trying to pass us something cursed?”

 

“Are you planning to follow a career in Magical Law, Miss Granger?” Scrimgeour asked.

 

“That’s the plan.” Hermione said, trying not to look too put off. 

 

“Well from the sounds of it you’ll be quite prepared for it.” Scrimgeour sighed.

 

“So why have you decided to let us have our things now?” Ron asked with a frown.

 

“Because the thirty-one days are up.” Hermione said, her stare never wavering. “They can’t keep objects any longer than that unless they can prove they’re dangerous. Right?”

 

“Would you say you were close to Dumbledore, Ronald?” The Minister asked, completely ignoring Hermione.

 

“Not… really?” He hedged with a frown.

 

“If you were not close to Dumbledore, then how do you account for the fact that he remembered you in his will?” Scrimgeour pressed, leaning forward. “He made exceptionally few personal bequests. The vast majority of his possessions were left to Hogwarts. Why were you singled out?”

 

“Couldn’t say.” Ron said, obviously displeased with his line of questioning. “I imagine he liked me well enough, at least.”

 

“You’re being modest, Ron.” Hermione said. “Dumbledore was very fond of you.”

 

This was stretching the truth quite a bit, of course. Ron and Dumbledore had never even been alone together, and contact between them was few and far between, with Harry usually playing the part of conversation topic. Scrimgeour, luckily, didn’t seem to be aware of this, and reached into his robes to produce a small drawstring pouch. From it, he pulled a scroll of parchment which he unrolled and read aloud.

 

“The last will and testament of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore… Here we are, ah… To Ronald Bilius Weasley, I leave my deluminator, in the hope that he will remember me when he uses it.”

 

Scrimgeour took from the bag an object that Harry had never seen before, though it looked to be a silver cigarette lighter. Ron took it in hand, turning it over carefully. 

 

“That is a valuable object. It may even be the only one of it’s kind- certainly Dumbledore’s own design.” Scrimgeour said pointedly. “Why would he have left you an item so rare?”

 

Ron shook his head slowly, looking bewildered. “No clue, honest. I don’t even know what this is.”

 

“Albus Dumbledore taught thousands of students, and yet you three are the only ones mentioned in his will. Why do you think that is? To what use did he think you could put his deluminator?” The Minister asked, eyes narrowing.

 

“Putting out lights, I suppose?” Ron shrugged, stuffing it into his back pocket. “Not sure what else I could do with it.”

 

He sighed, turning back to the will. “To Miss Hermione Jean Granger, I leave my copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard, in the hope that she will find it as entertaining as instructive.”

 

He pulled out of the bag a small book with a weathered cover, which he passed to Hermione without further fanfare. She held it in her lap, running her fingers gently down the spine. Harry saw that the title was in runes, which he’d never learned to read. 

 

“Why do you think he left that book to you?” Scrimgeour asked unkindly.

 

“He… He knew I liked books.” Hermione murmured. “He must have thought I’d enjoy it.”

 

“Did you ever discuss codes, or means of passing secret messages with Dumbledore?” Scrimgeour pressed.

 

“No, I didn’t, and if the Ministry didn’t find any hidden codes in it this past month I very much doubt that I will.” Hermione snapped.

 

“To Harry James Potter, I leave the snitch he caught in his first Quidditch match at Hogwarts, as a reminder of the rewards of perseverance and skill.” He read, pulling the snitch from the bag and passing it over to Harry. It’s wings fluttered rather feebly, and Harry couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticlimax. 

 

“Why did Dumbledore leave you this snitch?” He demanded.

 

“Dunno. Same reasons as the will said, I guess? Perseverance and, uh… whatever it was.” Harry shrugged. 

 

“A mere symbolic keepsake?”

 

“What else could it be?”

 

“I notice that your birthday cake was also in the shape of a Snitch.” Scrimgeour said, shifting his chair a little closer to the sofa. “Why is that?”

 

Hermione snorted. “Oh, it can’t be a reference to the fact that Harry is a great seeker- no, that’s much too obvious.” She said. “There must be a secret message from Dumbledore hidden in the icing!”

 

“I doubt there’s anything hidden in the icing.” He said, leaning back. “But a snitch is a convenient place to hide a small object. You know why, I’m sure?” 

 

“Cause it has flesh memories.” Ron shrugged.

 

“What?” Hermione frowned, obviously perturbed to not know this bit of information.

 

“A snitch isn’t supposed to be touched before it’s released- even the person who makes it wears gloves.” Ron explained. “Then it’s enchanted so that it’ll recognize the first person who touches it, if there’s ever a dispute over who caught it. If that one is from Harry’s first game, it should recognize him.” 

 

“It occurred to me that Dumbledore, who had prodigious magical skill, may have enchanted it so that it will only open for you.” Scrimgeour said. 

 

“Well, I’m already holding it, aren’t I?” Harry pointed out. “It hasn’t opened.”

 

Scrimgeour narrowed his eyes on the golden ball, as though waiting for some sort of delayed reaction. When nothing happened, Hermione got to her feet. “Is that all, then?”

 

“No. Dumbledore left something else to you, Potter.” Scrimgeour said, though he didn’t bother reading from the will again. “The sword of Godric Gryffindor.”

 

“So where is it?” Harry asked, when the Minister made no move to pull the sword from his leather pouch. 

 

“Unfortunately,” he replied, “the sword is not Dumbledore’s to give away. It’s an important historical artifact, and as such belongs--”

 

“It belongs to Harry!” Hermione protested. “It chose him! He was the one who found it, it came out of the sorting hat--”

 

“The sword may present itself to any worthy Gryffindor.” He replied coldly. “That does not make it the exclusive property of Mr. Potter, whatever Dumbledore may have thought.”

 

“I mean, if it’s so ready to present itself to any worthy Gryffindor, how come I’m the only one I know who’s done it?” Harry challenged. The sword could be useful in the hunt for Horcruxes -- hadn’t Dumbledore mentioned he’d used it to destroy one?

 

“Do you really think yourself so special, Potter?” Scrimgeour said. “I’m sure your friend Miss Granger here could tell you of several historical moments in which the sword was drawn.”

 

“Are you claiming all of the Gryffindors in the last, I don’t know, six years have been unworthy other than me?” Harry asked, looking as innocent as possible. “Sure has been a long time since someone else had that sword.”

 

“Do you believe that those Gryffindors have put themselves in positions where the sword was needed?” 

 

“I mean, Voldemort’s been around a mighty long time, so I’d imagine someone needed the sword at some point.” Harry said. 

 

“Remember that I am not Dumbledore, boy.” He got to his feet, expression cold. “I will not forgive your insolence or insubordination. It is not up to you to decide how to do my job. Your parents obviously forgot to teach you respect.”

 

“My parents taught me how to stand up for myself when I’m obviously being condescended to.” Harry stood up to match. He was taller than Scrimgeour, despite being decades younger, and liked the edge it gave him. “If we’re adult enough to have this conversation with you alone, I’d imagine we’re adult enough for you to talk to us like we know what we’re talking about. Standing up for yourself isn’t insolence or insubordination. It’s making sure you’re treated with the respect you deserve.” Harry turned toward the door, his hand closing around the cold metal of the Snitch. “Come on. We’re done here.”

 

Ron and Hermione followed after him, but Ron paused to glare at Scrimgeour. “Get out of my house. Unless you happen to have an invitation to the wedding?”

 

Scrimgeour didn’t dignify him with a response, instead sweeping past them and into the yard. Harry listened for the crack of his apparation before they rejoined the party.

 

“Harry!” Lily got to her feet as they approached the table once more. “What did he want?”

 

“Dumbledore left us a bunch of weird things.” Harry shrugged. “I can't figure it out for the life of me.”

 

The items in question were passed around the table-- Matt looked particularly taken with the old book, and Mrs. Weasley kept picking the deluminator back up and turning it over in her hands. No one, however, could figure out why Dumbledore would have left an old snitch to Harry.

 

“Maybe there's something inside it.” Sarah said.

 

“That'd be helpful if it opened.” Harry scoffed. “Until it does, it's just a ball. Cryptic as hell, right to the end.”

 

“Perhaps we should eat now?” Molly finally spoke up. “We didn’t want to start without you, Harry dear, but I think everyone is hungry.”

 

“So am I, so that works out just perfectly.” Harry rubbed his hands together. “Let’s eat.”

 

As he ate, he noticed his father’s eyes trained on him. It was rather uncomfortable -- James Potter had a talent for making sure you knew you were being watched, but hadn’t quite figured out how to signal whether it was out of love or disapproval just yet. Harry hoped he’d figure it out by the time the next generation came around -- he and his siblings were already a lost cause.

 

After dinner, when Harry had been turned aside by multiple Weasleys telling him he shouldn’t have to clean up on his birthday, Harry found his father sitting alone on the front steps, running his thumb in circles over something circular and metallic, scratched and dinged with age.

 

“Hey.” Harry said, sitting down beside his father. “What did you want to tell me? During dinner.”

 

“I didn’t want to tell you anything.” James said, before turning toward Harry. “I wanted to give you something. But not while your mother was around. I don’t know how she’d feel about it.”

 

“What’s so controversial?” Harry laughed. “I can’t imagine anything you’d think of that Amma would hate.”

 

“She’d hate that I’m giving you this.” James said, and held out his hand. 

 

In his palm rested a watch, one traditionally given to wizards on the day of their seventeenth birthday, the same one James had been rubbing like a touchstone just minutes before. There were words engraved upon the cover that Harry hadn’t noticed from a distance -- “You will always be welcome with us. 03.11.1976.”.

 

“This is…” Harry trailed off. “This is Uncle Sirius’ watch.”

 

He’d seen this watch before. He’d played with it as a child, had begged Uncle Sirius to check the time far more often than he needed to just to see the delicately wrought hands spin around the surface of the clock. He’d been mystified by it for years, and to see his father holding it rather than his uncle brought the full force of the loss they’d suffered back to him, as if it had just happened. The year in between melted away, at the sight of the watch, so familiar and yet so removed from the life his family had so painstakingly pieced together over the last year. 

 

“And now it’s yours.” James said, placing it in Harry’s hands, hands he hadn’t even realized had been reaching for the watch. “The most important part of your inheritance. Money… money is nothing, so long as you have enough of it to be comfortable. I won’t stand for any of you kids just living off what we have, so when I choose to give that to you, it will be given with the expectation that you earn your way along with it. Plus, there’s five of you to divide it between, so there won’t be as much as any of you might be expecting.” He chuckled. “But this… This is the most important thing we have. Family. Unless we make sure we all belong here, that we all have a space to share together, nothing matters. Money, schooling, none of those things will come close. And Sirius would’ve wanted you to keep him with you. You loved him most out of all your siblings, I think.”

 

“Shouldn’t-- Shouldn’t this have gone to one of his friends?” Harry protested. The watch, warm from his father’s hands, was a heavy weight to bear, and one he wasn’t sure he wanted. “Like Uncle Remus, or Amma, or you? Why me?”

 

“Remus didn’t want it. Your Amma can’t look at it without getting upset yet. And I’ve carried Sirius with me for long enough.” James said, folding his hands. “I’ve had this with me every day since the day he died, and I think it’s best to stop now, before I turn it into something it’s not. Sirius and I had sixteen more years together than we ever thought we would. I think that’s enough miracles for two people, hm?” He closed Harry’s hands over the watch. “Think of it as permanent adult supervision. He’ll always be with you through all of this. Nothing more important in these times than knowing someone’s got your back.”

 

Harry slipped the watch into the front pocket of his shirt, tears pricking painfully at his eyes.

 

“Would he have wanted me to have it?” He asked, wiping his eyes on the cuff of his shirt sleeve.

 

“He would have.” James said, with complete conviction. “He’d say you’d be the least likely to drop it, and it’s got enough scratches already.”

 

Harry burst into laughter. He could almost hear the words in Uncle Sirius’ voice as his father spoke them, could see the expression of amusement on his uncle’s face. It felt so real.

 

“Hopefully I’ll do him proud, then.” Harry said, rubbing his fingers over the watch’s surface through the fabric of his shirt pocket.

 

“You know what?” James said, turning away from Harry and gazing out into the darkening sky above them. “I think he already is.”

* * *

The tent that Ron and his brothers had set up shone a brilliant white as the midday sun reflected off of it. It was almost blinding, and Harry, dressed to the nines in a brand new set of dress robes he doubted he’d ever use again, made his way toward the tent, shading his eyes. His siblings had already found their seats, among friends from school that had been invited, or, in his sisters’ case, clinging to their parents like lifelines.

 

Anne had turned into their mother’s shadow, twitchy around people as usual, and Sarah, in the few moments she’d allowed herself to be separated from their father, had clung to Anne with a ferocity that Harry hadn’t witnessed since they were young. When they were young enough for such things to matter, he’d often thought the girls had shared a special bond that he and his brothers had been left out of on account of their gender, but he could see it now, growing and strengthening. It was an Unbreakable Vow that had never needed to be spoken -- they would protect each other to their last breath, would love each other more fiercely than anyone else in the world could, would stand with each other even when the rest of the world had given them up. 

 

He was glad they had each other. 

 

Both of them knew the sting of betrayal well, and when it came from inside their home, from the older brother they’d thought they could trust, they would know how to piece the boys back together. Sarah, with well of the strange, new patience that she’d found over the summer, would take on Matt, the project, while Anne, always talented at fixing things on the fly, would easily get Drew back into working order. And of course, they’d take care of each other. His little sisters, generals in this war, would marshal their forces and put their little world to rights through sheer force of will.

 

It almost felt as if Anne and Sarah could tell he was leaving, Anne especially. She’d clung to him particularly tightly the night before, as if she’d overheard something she wasn’t meant to or happened upon a particularly worrisome string of thoughts, and he’d hugged her as much as he could, rubbing her back and singing softly in her ear until she fell asleep, like he remembered doing when she was a toddler.

 

They’d all grown up so fast, giving him hardly enough time to take stock of all the differences that had sprung up in them all so suddenly. None of them were the children he remembered -- they were something else, something in between, and he could already see the shadows of the adults they would be someday within them, waiting for their time to burst forth.

 

Matt sped past Harry, and he turned around, surprised, before Bertie squeaked out a “sorry!” from somewhere behind Harry and nearly bowled him over in an effort to catch up to Matt. It was a miracle that Bertie had turned up, and Harry knew for certain that it had definitely made sure that Matt, who’d been worried about attending the wedding to the point that he’d declared he wouldn’t come at all, would enjoy the day.

 

Bertie’s father, unpopular though he was, was a distant relative of the Weasleys’ and had come along, his son in tow. Harry had been surprised by how unlike his father Bertie was -- where Bertie’s father was dour, a perpetually disgusted expression on his already wrinkled face, Bertie was a ray of sunshine, a lightning bolt. His father had already had one unpleasant encounter with Bertram Aubrey, the two shaking hands simply for propriety’s sake and awkwardly attempting to converse, and seemed disturbed by the thought of a second, keeping his daughters close as a convenient excuse to leave any conversation.

 

Matt and Bertie were running around still, taking full advantage of the fact that the ceremony hadn’t yet started, and Harry smiled at the sight of them giggling, pulling at each other’s shirt collars and chasing each other round the grounds with a reckless abandon Matt rarely allowed himself to experience. Being thirteen felt like a warm memory, a too small sweater that he kept in his closet just to touch from time to time, and he was glad Matt was enjoying it to the fullest. The warmth of these days would serve him well, in the days to come, giving him something to warm the depths of his heart, something to tape over the cracks with when Harry’s impending departure inevitably shattered every last bit of faith his youngest brother had in him.

 

He spotted Drew clowning around with some fellow Gryffindors from his year, friends he would be seeing for the last time today for what could be months, or perhaps years, depending on how long the war took. He hadn’t realized how many friends Drew had made, but judging by the small crowd around him, he was outpacing Harry at that age easily. Harry could believe that, without a shred of doubt -- Drew’s sincerity and enthusiasm had always drawn people in like flies to honey, and his kindness and sweet nature made him a wonderful friend to have. 

 

Harry often thought he and his siblings had gotten lucky -- though they attributed much of their happiness as a group to Matt, who was often labelled the glue holding them together, an equal share of that gratitude was rightfully Drew’s. Drew had worked tirelessly keeping their sisters in good spirits, had gone looking for Matt even when he hadn’t wanted to be found, had brightened Harry’s day with silly jokes he’d read from one of the ancient, dusty joke books he’d found while cleaning out their father’s childhood room. Drew had truly outdone himself, Harry thought, as he watched his brother laugh, head thrown back and smiling like the sun. He deserved some time to be thirteen with his friends, to just breathe and be without repercussions.

 

The more he thought about it, the more he realized -- the little seeds of personality he’d seen in them as little kids had grown into saplings, still pliable, but tall and strong, too green to be broken. He hoped that would last a little longer, the few shreds of innocence he’d left them keeping their smiles on their faces for just a few seconds more.

 

There would be few smiles after tonight. He didn’t have to think too much to know that.

 

Harry turned when he felt a tap on his shoulder, coming face-to-face with a vision in yellow. Luna was wearing a bright set of flowing dress robes, and she had tucked several sunflowers into her cloud of blonde hair. She smiled dreamily at him, her smile as warm as the pleasant colors she was dressed in. “Harry, it’s so lovely to see you.” She said happily. 

 

“It’s lovely to see you again too.” Harry said, a bright smile on his face. “Your robes look wonderful. Yellow’s really your color.”

 

“It matches my hair.” She agreed easily.

 

“It’s wonderful to see you again, Mr. Potter.” Xenophilius Lovegood, dressed somewhat inappropriately for both the occasion and the weather, said, taking Harry’s hand with an odd sort of gentleness. He leaned in close, until Harry could feel his breath on the shell of his ear. “I hope you know that we support you. If you need anything, just ask.” As he straightened back up, a curious necklace caught Harry’s eye -- the pendant was a triangle, with a circle inscribed within it and a line cutting that circle neatly in half. 

 

“What’s that, Mr. Lovegood?” Harry asked, pointing to the pendant. He’d seen the symbol somewhere before, but he couldn’t remember where. It seemed familiar, something calling out to him from the deepest reaches of his memories, but he couldn’t quite place it.

 

“Someone hasn’t read his bedtime stories in a while.” Mr. Lovegood said, shaking his head. “It’s the symbol of the Deathly Hallows, Harry. Hasn’t your father told you about them? I should think he would have, seeing as--”

 

“Oh, I do love a good story.” Luna hummed, hooking her arm through Harry’s and leaning her head on his shoulder. “Mummy used to read it to me every night- that and the Fountain of Fair Fortune. That one was my favorite- she always used to change the potion Altheda used to revive Asha, and tell me how to make it myself. Right, father?”

 

“Dad wasn’t fond of telling stories. Never had the patience to tell them all the way through, and he hated getting anything wrong, so he’d start over if he missed one bit so we ‘got the whole picture’. It just took too long.” Harry shrugged. “Mum was great at it, so we grew up on Muggle stories, not Wizarding ones.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure Mr. Weasley would love it if you told him a few of those.” Luna said, eyes skirting to the front of the tent. “Oh, I do believe they’ll be starting soon… Father, would you mind if I sat with Harry? I wasn’t able to finish telling him about the beneficial qualities of gnome saliva the last time we were able to talk.”

 

“Of course.” Xenophilius smiled, which was slightly unnerving. “Keep an eye out for Blibbering Humdingers, dear.”

 

“Don’t worry,” Luna patted his arm as they wandered away from her father, maneuvering towards two empty seats, “I know you won’t want to hear about gnome saliva.”

 

“Oh, good. I wasn’t, uh, particularly enthused, but I’d have listened to it for you, Luna. Hope your summer’s been alright.” Harry said. “Have you been called on in Sarah and Ginny’s great war as well?”

 

“Ginny says I must be on her side, but I find myself more on the side of friendship.” Luna hummed.

 

“I suppose I am as well.” Harry laughed. “They’ve never fought this long, not in all the years they’ve been friends. They’ll have made up by the end of tonight. They’re missing each other something terrible, you can tell by looking at them. Sarah keeps looking over at Ginny when she’s busy talking to someone else like a lovesick puppy, it’s disgusting.”

 

“Oh I do hope so. Wrackspurts are attracted to negative emotions, you know, and they must be buzzing with them by now.”

 

“I think Sarah  _ is _ a Wrackspurt.” Harry said. “Actually, that would explain a lot. Can they pretend to be people? I never did believe the whole story about her being born.”

 

“You know, they very well could…” Luna’s eyes widened as though she’d stumbled upon the secret of the universe. “But I would still be Sarah’s friend of course, as long as she didn’t mind me asking her a few questions.... Do you suppose it would be like the stories about the changeling children?”

 

“Mind if I sit here?” Harry looked to his left to see Neville, who was holding a folding chair in his hands. He looked rather nervous, cheeks flushed and hair glued to his forehead by some combination of sweat and hair gel. 

 

“Feel free.” Harry said, trying to sound natural. 

 

“Neville!” Luna beamed up at him as he took a seat. 

 

“Are Ron and Hermione coming by?” Neville asked.

 

“Oh, no, they’re off being disgustingly romantic somewhere.” Harry shuddered. “Gross.”

 

“Attractive.” Neville quipped. “Can’t help but love a man who hates his friends being happy.”

 

“Listen, I never said I hate my friends being happy.” Harry countered, falling into the same pattern of affectionate teasing that he’d missed so much. “I just said I hate them being happy without me.”

 

“I’m very glad you’re talking again.” Luna hummed. “Remember what I said about the wrackspurts.”

 

“Against all odds, progress has been made.” Harry joked. “The letters were nice.”

 

“They explained a lot.” Neville nodded. “Perspective’s got to come with time, though. I’ve had enough of that. Don’t know about Harry.”

 

“We’ve got bigger problems than bruised egos now.” Harry said, voice nearly disappearing halfway through. 

 

He didn’t feel particularly scared, but the strange, agitated feeling that often warned of danger to come had been bothering him since late last night. He hadn’t slept properly, had apparently woken Ron up in the middle of the night muttering something about someone named Gregory Vitch, and on top of that, he’d been pulled into errands and conversations that he hadn’t been prepared for at all. He was honestly afraid he’d fall asleep during the wedding and miss the whole thing.

 

“Like the imminent threat of death.” Luna agreed happily.

 

“Exactly-- exactly like that.” Harry tugged at the collar of his dress robes. “Isn’t that always there though?”

 

“I guess so.” Neville said, looking rather green. “That’s not fun to think about.”

 

Their conversation was quieted by the gentle thrum of violins suddenly filling the tent. Bill appeared at the front, standing prim and proper beside his brothers. He looked rather odd, without his usual ponytail, which Molly had forcefully chopped off the night before. He’d already told Harry that he would grow it back after the reception, but that he was alright with it being gone for the ceremony. 

 

It wasn’t as though he was the center of attention in that exact moment, as everyone turned to look at the entrance to the tent. First came Ginny, dressed in a soft blue bridesmaid gown, followed by Gabrielle in an identical dress. They walked slowly to stand opposite Bill, and the crowd seemed to hold their collective breath before Fleur appeared.

 

She was a vision in white. Her platinum hair was curled and pinned against her head, held up with little white flowers, mirrored on the skirt of her gown. She held her bouquet loosely in her hands- handpicked by her sister that morning- but her gaze was focused on Bill, who beamed at her from the other end of the aisle. Fleur seemed to float towards him, reaching out to take his hand when they finally met. 

 

There was a crashing sound, and a Patronus in the shape of a lynx appeared in the center of the aisle between the rows and rows of seats. All the adults stood up, wands at the read, children clinging to their parents and looking around in fear.

 

“The Ministry has fallen.” The lynx said, in a voice Harry recognized as Kingsley Shacklebolt’s. “The Minister of Magic is dead. No one is safe.”

 

The words stunned everyone into silence, Harry especially. How could the Minister be dead? He had seen him just the night before, had discussed Dumbledore’s will at him. He had looked healthy -- how could he have died?

 

“The Ministry has fallen.” The lynx said again, this time more insistently, as people were jolted back into action. “The Minister of Magic is dead. No one is safe.”

 

A few clouds of black smoke ripped through the canvas ceiling of the tent, the tendrils of darkness congealing into familiar masked figures that began indiscriminately firing green bursts of light into the screaming, writhing crowd, all of whom were trying their best to escape.  

 

People began yelling for their loved ones, grabbing each other and Apparating away as quickly as they could, and as Harry looked around for his parents, he felt a hand close around his upper arm and turned to see Ron, looking rather solemn, who dragged him out through a gap between two panels of cloth, to a waiting Hermione, who was carrying all of their backpacks. She’d obviously summoned them from the house immediately after the Patronus had spoken first, and Harry quickly transfigured his clothes into something more fitting before putting his hand in Hermione’s.

 

“We’re doing this?” He asked, and Hermione and Ron nodded resolutely. “Let’s go.”

 

He closed his eyes, the familiar feeling of being squished and stretched overtaking him, before they tumbled onto a busy London street, surprising the crowd of people around them.

 

“Where’s this?” Harry asked, raising his voice to be heard over the cacophonous riot of noise around them.

 

“Muggle London.” Hermione yelled back. “We used to go to the theater near here! Let’s just find a bathroom to change in, or an alleyway or something!”

 

“There’s an alleyway right there!” Ron pointed, and the three rushed in, Hermione transfiguring her dress while Ron indiscriminately stripped his dress robes off with a profound lack of self-consciousness born of growing up with far too many siblings to count and often broken doors, switching them out for clothes Hermione had packed for him. “Alright. Where are we headed? We can’t stay here, can we? They’ll-- They’ll find us. Harry’s got--” Ron blinked, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Harry’s not got the Trace on him anymore. He’s seventeen.”

 

“One blessing among many curses.” Hermione said. “Who’s got the tent in their bag?”

 

“I’ve got it.” Harry said, eyeing the mouth of the alleyway with suspicion. “We should be off. Quickly. No telling where they’re looking for us.”

 

“On the count of three.” Hermione said. “One. Two.” Harry and Ron took each of her hands. “Three.”

 

Darkness fell, sharp and sudden, and Harry felt himself being whisked away again, landing on his knees on the forest floor with a crunch. He felt his backpack being tugged away from him, sending his heartbeat into overtime, before he realized it was simply Ron, who was pitching the tent with some clever spell Hermione had taught him.

 

“Protego Totalum. Salvio Hexia. Repello Muggletum.” Hermione muttered, waving her wand in complex shapes that Harry couldn’t even begin to decipher. “Cave Inimicum. Muffliato.” She muttered something under her breath, while pointing her wand at each of them in turn, and then the tent, before sweeping her wand across the full length and breadth of their campsite. Harry felt the familiar warm wetness of the Disillusionment Charm spreading over him, and grimaced like he’d tasted something awful, as was his usual instant reaction.

 

“Need anymore spells there?” Ron teased, knowing full well that all of those spells, and more, would be the only thing standing between them and certain death tonight. 

 

Harry, in an awful, and thankfully private, display of selfishness, wished he’d gotten more sleep last night.

 

“No.” Hermione said, though her voice shook. “That should be enough.” She walked over to the tent, Harry close at her heels, and sat down at its door, staring out into the woods. “It feels… It feels awfully lonely already, doesn’t it? Just the three of us, out here.”

 

“We’re all we’ve got.” Harry said, pulling Hermione into his side. “We’ve managed for a fair few years with just the three of us, haven’t we?”

 

Ron joined the group hug. “A family in our own right, really.” He said. “A capable one, too, according to our track record.”

 

“So long as the three of us are together, we don’t have anything to be afraid of.” Harry said. “Okay, no, we have some things to be afraid of, but we can count out the average things, like bacterial infection and tetanus.”

 

“And there’s the funny sidekick.” Ron said, nudging at his shoulders. 

 

“Oh, he’s just trying to help.” Hermione said, shaking her head. “Come here, Ron.”

 

The three of them tangled into a pile of limbs just outside the tent, wrestling in the leaves like carefree children waiting to be called into the house for dinner, but just mere feet away, not a single leaf appeared to move, nor were there signs that anyone had even set foot in this particular corner of the Forest of Dean.

 

* * *

 

“Sarah!” James called out, eyes wide with fear. “HARRY! SARAH! ANNE! DREW! MATT! KIDS!”

 

His children were -- his children were missing, what if they were dead? What if they were dead? What if they were dead and gone forever? What if no one could find them or their-- their bodies? What if they were gone, what if they were--

 

“Appa!” A child’s voice, high and shrill, screamed, and clammy hands clutched at his. 

 

Sarah’s black hair was wild, breaking free of its bobby pins, and the purple dress they had bought her just for today was ripped -- it must have gotten caught in the chair, and torn as she stood up, looking around for help, for her parents, for her family. He hugged her tight, whispering a few, useless platitudes in her ear before scanning the room for any more of his children. He spotted Adi standing in the middle of a circle of his friends, scared and unsure, and waved to him, though he didn’t think he noticed.

 

“ADI!” He screamed, and was met with an answering cry of recognition. “BY THE SHED!” Sarah’s fists were bunched in the side of his robe, and he threw an arm around her, ushering her to the exit. “Shh, shh, it’s okay, it’s okay.” He looked over his shoulder to see Drew forcing his way through the crowd, and he ran toward James just as the curses started to fly, the blots of black smoke that had rushed into the tent shifting into solid, shadowy figures with silver skull masks. 

 

Drew grabbed Sarah’s free hand, eyes wild with fear. He muttered out a few curses, lost in the chaos of the crowd, before raising his voice. 

 

“WHERE’S ANJU AND MADHU?” He shouted, voice tight with terror, as they ducked behind Arthur Weasley’s shed, bracing themselves against the wooden wall.

 

As though in answer, Anne came hurtling out of the crowd, clutching Matt’s arm. He was silent, eyes wide, tears streaming down his face. “I can’t find Amma!” Anne cried, pressing her younger brother between herself and James, as though trying to protect him. “She wasn’t by the portkey!”

 

“She’ll be here, she’ll be here.” James said, though he wasn’t entirely confident. Had he seen his wife? Had he spotted a flash of red hair or bright green eyes, somewhere in the crowd? Where was she? “It’s okay, she knows she has to be here, and she’s got a portkey of her own. She’s got one of her own. She’ll be here, it’s going to be okay.”

 

Sarah waited a few more seconds before bursting into tears to match her brother, casting glances over at the tent, which was alight with color from cast spells, every few seconds. She hiccuped while trying to catch her breath, a wet, haunting sound, fists clenching and unclenching like she was grasping for something she couldn’t hold.

 

“Where is she?” She asked, looking up at James pitifully. She sniffled, wiping at the tears running down her cheeks. “Amma promised. We had a plan.”

 

“She has to come home with us.” Matt whispered, strangely calm despite the tears still streaming down his face. “She has to come home.”

 

“She will, she will, don’t worry.” James said, utterly lost. 

 

He looked around, but his wife was nowhere to be found, and sooner than later, those smudges of smoke would come for him and the four impossibly small children huddled beside him, clinging to their father in fear. Was this what they had survived for? To be hunted down and murdered now, after they had fallen in love with this life, with their children and their sweet faces and smiles, children who would never have been born if they had died that night in his parents’ cottage? Wasn’t this infinitely more cruel than stealing away a future that had never been, that they never could have imagined? 

 

If a God existed, why would they let it end like this?

 

Years before, as a twenty-one year old lying in the wreckage of the first home he and his wife had shared, his greatest enemy defeated, he had allowed himself to wonder if there was any greater cruelty than seeking to murder a child in front of his parents. He had wondered who would even think of such a thing, while too weak to stand, too weak to apparate, too weak to do anything but manage a weak flutter of his eyelids from time to time. He had wondered how anyone could find it in their heart to look at a child, a gurgling, happy, joyful child, and see something to be defeated, how someone could even consider inflicting the harm of tearing that future away, tearing that child away and stealing the light in its eyes. Now, he knew better than to wonder. 

 

He had four children in his arms now, four beautiful, joyful children whose hearts were aching for their mother, and he was terrified that they would be torn away from him, one by one, shredding his heart to pieces. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t lose any more people. He’d lost his parents, his uncle, his cousin, his best friend, countless colleagues and friends and childhood playmates to this war. 

 

He couldn’t lose his children. 

 

He couldn’t. 

 

James hugged his children tighter, and let the words in his heart free, shoulders shaking as he prayed every prayer he could remember, lips forming silent words as he squeezed his eyes shut. If someone was willing to show mercy, if someone cared for his children, for his wife, for him, they would live tonight. They would live tonight and leave this place far behind, together. 

 

Luna Lovegood suddenly came to a stop in front of them, her yellow robes shredded at the hem, covered in dirt. She had the wide eyed look of someone seeing war for the first time, understanding the canyon between what it meant to be affected and hearing about it on the news. 

 

“Mr. Potter!” She gasped, pointing back the way she’d come. “Lily, your wife! She’s dueling, sir!” 

 

James followed the line of her finger, and could hardly make Lily out. Through the smoke and wreckage, he thought he saw flashes of her hair, or the edge of her sleeve as she threw a hex. She was distracted -- she wasn’t throwing herself into the spells with reckless abandon the way he knew she could. Her green eyes flashed away from her opponents, searching for him, for their children. 

 

“Thank you. Thank you, Luna.” James said hoarsely, pausing in the middle of a prayer. His eyes swam with tears as he counted his children again. One, two, three, four. “Stay in one place, Luna. Make sure your father finds you.”

 

“Yes, sir.” She said breathlessly, turning when Ginny appeared at her side, wand in hand.

 

“Luna-- Sarah, are you alright?” She gasped, lurching forward, hand raised without making contact with Sarah’s shoulder.

 

“I’m-- I’m okay.” Sarah grabbed for Ginny’s hand, squeezing it tight. “I’m okay. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

 

“Have you-- have you seen--” James began, though the sinking feeling in his heart answered the question for him. 

 

He had been lying, the night before, when he’d told Lily that he knew Harry wasn’t planning to join the war effort, and the soft brush of his son’s fingertips against the tops of his feet in the early morning, when he thought James was sleeping, had confirmed his worst fears. He wondered if Lily had felt it when he’d touched her feet, wondered if she’d noticed their son’s request for a blessing, the last thing he’d asked of his parents -- to wait for his return, to bless his going and coming and everything in between. Had she slept through it? Or had her heart been as heavy as his all day long, dreading that every glimpse of his son would be the last?

 

He’d said nothing. He hadn’t stopped Harry. He hadn’t even thought to. If he had, would his oldest be here with them, face tear stained and clinging to his siblings like his life depended upon it? Would he be telling his father to fight? Would he be safe? Would he be here?

 

James’ head spun, just as it had in the morning, faced with the greatest choice in his life. He’d said yes to the challenge of doing the right thing, had risen to the occasion just as he had all those years ago when he’d rushed down the stairs without his wand in hand, and instinctively muttered the familiar words of blessing (may you live a long life, may you live forever, may victory be yours) in a sleep dulled voice. He was repaid with the quick flash of white teeth in the near darkness of the room, his wife’s green eyes watching him from a carbon copy his own face, a secret smile hidden in their depths. 

 

He could see his son standing before him now, if he shut his eyes, could see the room around them, could see his soft surprise of a smile. He could see Harry in all of his children’s faces, little bits and pieces of him scattered throughout all of them, and tried to console himself with that. His son would be coming to them in pieces, through all these miracles that his presences had bought them, and maybe someday, someday soon, he would come home again.

 

Sarah picked up the prayer where he had left off, muttering familiar words under her breath. Her siblings joined in, one by one, picking up familiar threads of words in between quiet, choking sobs, gripping each other’s hands and not daring to look back at the wreckage of the tent, torn apart by duellers aiming to kill.

 

“LILY!” James called out, a scream that burst forth from the most desperate parts of him. “LILY!”

 

She turned, ducking a curse almost instinctively as she scrambled forward, pushing through the crowd the second she heard her name. She barreled into James, eyes skipping from one child to another, already pulling Matt against her chest. “Hari, where’s Hari?”

 

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” James’ voice broke as he hung on to the remains of his family as tightly as he could. “I don’t know where he is. Luna says he’s with Ron and Hermione.” Another lie. It left his lips effortlessly, and he was almost terrified by the ease at which it had sprung forth. When had he become so comfortable lying to his wife?

 

“We can’t leave without him.” She said. “I won’t- you take the kids, I’ll find him.”

 

“There’s a Portkey in his backpack. The one he brought. He knows how to use it, I-- I taught him.” James said, the words falling out of his mouth awkwardly, tripping over his tongue and teeth. “I-- I can’t see him, Lily, they’re coming for us, Lily, we’re going to-- It’s going to happen here, I can feel it--”

 

“Take the kids. James, please, you need to-- to go, okay? I’ll meet you there, I promise.” She placed a hand against his cheek. 

 

“I can’t be without you. They can’t be without you. What if-- What if you go missing? What if something happens? I know where to go. You need to take the kids.” James said. “I’ll-- I’ll go get him. It should be me.”

 

It would be a sick sort of penance for not stopping him, if he went searching for his son now. He couldn’t have told Harry not to do something he would’ve done himself, something he had done himself, but he could see it from his mother’s point of view now, the ache in your chest when your sweet, small son leaves home to fight in a war he has no business being in. The sins of the father are borne by his sons, and of all of his sons, of all of his bright, beautiful boys, Harry had been chosen to take the fall.

 

“I have told you a million times, I will not-- I cannot. You are not going missing on me again, James!” She choked out, something wild and raw in her eyes. 

He hadn’t come home, after she had escaped Godric’s Hollow with Harry. He’d been facing off against the most dangerous dark wizard in the world, and everyone had written him off as dead when he hadn’t met her at Remus’ cottage. Even now, almost two decades later, he couldn’t imagine how it had felt to open up the newspaper the next morning and see her worst fear spelled out for the world in thirty-six point type.

 

“I won’t go without you.” James said, trying to sound more authoritative, in the hopes that it would settle the children, who were now starting to notice Harry’s absence even more acutely than their parents. “Lily, we have to go.” His voice shook, as he thought of the little boy who would wait by the window for him to come home from work, who would beg to be held the moment James walked through the doorway. The boy he was leaving behind. The boy that had already left them. “They’re closing in, we don’t have much longer.”

 

Behind them, the tent collapsed, the canvas falling to the ground, plumes of fire eating away at it. A different sort of smoke rose from the shredded cloth of the tent, signaling a brutal end for anyone who hadn’t escaped yet. There was little left to hide behind, and James looked to Lily, desperate and afraid.

 

“They’re-- they’re going to find us, Lily.” He whispered. “And-- And I don’t care about what happens to me. We got seventeen years more than we thought we would. That’s more than enough. But our babies, Lily, they don’t deserve to go like this.”

 

Lily turned back from the tent, frantic, her eyes boring into James’. “Please, go.” She whispered. “I’ll meet you there.”

 

“You know it’s now or never as well as I do.” James tried his best to be strong for his children, all five of them. 

 

Lily’s eyes welled with tears, bright in the fairy lights still strung between the trees. “He’s my baby.” She whispered.

 

“So are they.” James’ voice cracked on the last word. 

 

“Now. Let’s go now.” She closed her eyes, as though trying to unsee the reality of his words. “Please, now.”

 

“Everyone hold on to me.” James said, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible as he dug the Portkey out of the pocket of his dress robes. “On the count of three. One. Two.”

 

He was gripped tightly from all sides, arms around his waist, holding his arms. 

 

“Three.” 

 

James tapped the Portkey, an old squeaky toy he’d stolen from the cat’s ratty old bed, with the tip of his wand, and suddenly, the six Potters were swallowed up and spat out onto hard, rocky ground, sparsely covered by tufts of dried out, yellow grass.

 

“Is… is this it?” Drew asked, voice strained, grip around James’ waist still tight. “Is this the house?”

 

“Yeah.” James said, with a rather wet sounding laugh. “This is it.”

 

Behind a gate, a ramp rose from the parched ground, leading up to a blocky, concrete house painted a strange shade of teal. It stood tall and strong, like the coconut trees that surrounded it, and looked something like a gaudily painted fortress.

 

“I used to play out here, you know?” James said, obviously trying to distract himself from his swimming vision as he forged forward toward the gate. “When I was younger than you lot. Must’ve been four, five, six, something like that. One of those in between ages.” He sniffled loudly. “I was the littlest of my cousins and I’d just come out here looking for adventures once everyone else was off to school and work. Would dig holes out here. I don’t know what I was looking for.”

 

Lily watched him, a distant look on her face. Matt had a nearly identical expression, tears drying on his cheeks. Anne was tugging at his sleeve, obviously concerned with his lack of a response. 

 

“Appa?” Sarah asked hesitantly, taking his hand in her own, speeding up her steps to match his own. 

 

James kept up a blistering pace, eyes focused only on the gate, as if reaching the gate would ensure their safety. He kept looking over his shoulder, eyes wide with panic, as if someone would be following them, just as he had when they’d reached the Burrow a mere two days before.

 

James and Sarah reached the gate, and he roughly wrenched his hand from hers before placing it on the gate. The air around the metal shimmered, once, twice, then the strange glow disappeared as the gate swung open to allow them through.

 

When James entered, it was slowly and hesitantly, as if questioning his decision to come here at all. With each step, he seemed to sink into himself, and the clang of the gate as it shut itself had him reaching for his wand, stiff and terrified. 

 

“Appa?” Sarah asked again, reaching out for his hand for a second time. “Where are we?”

 

“Home.” James said, making his way up the ramp toward a small, shaded platform.

 

A wooden swing hung from the ceiling by metal chains, the perfect size for three, or perhaps even four, teenagers to pile upon at the same time. From the center of the platform rose the front steps, which lead to a door built of metal bars, through which a small entryway was visible. His eyes, however, were on the intricately carved wooden door within, the door that lead into the house.

 

James took off his shoes before climbing up the steps toward the first door, its metal bars giving way the same way the gate had, as if recognizing him by his touch. He took a deep breath before stepping forward and knocking on the wooden door, running his fingers over familiar designs as he waited for any sign of life from inside.

 

Finally, footsteps were heard from inside the house, and James backed away like a scared child caught listening at the door to a conversation he wasn’t meant to hear.

 

Anne appeared at his other side, glancing up at him before looking towards the door. “Let’s go inside.”

 

“Yeah.” James said, as the person on the other side of the door undid a series of complicated locks, each clicking as it slid into place. “Let’s… go inside.”


	5. Status Update

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We don't know how many there are, but he can be killed only when we've gotten all of them.” Hermione said, nose wrinkled in disgust. “Perfect. So we're just hunting each one and then checking on our good old friend to see if we can kill him properly yet?”
> 
> “I mean, I’d rather not, but--”
> 
> “Not that I’m surprised that Dumbledore didn’t tell you anything, but… jeez, he really didn’t tell you anything.” Ron groaned. “Okay, do we have any idea what the other horcruxes are?”
> 
> "Being murdered tends to work like that." Harry deadpanned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all!
> 
> Chapter Four was really heavy, so we're giving you guys a little filler here -- the Trio are all alive and safe in the Forest of Dean and the Potters have reached their final destination. Saying that makes it sound like the Final Destination series, but don't worry -- as of now, the death count is zero, and it's going to be that way for a little while. Enjoy this time -- none of us will ever get it back.
> 
> We can't wait to see you next week with Chapter Six, but be warned -- scenes one and three are going to be really heavy, and we recommend not reading them unless you are feeling one hundred and fifty percent up for an emotional hurricane. But don't worry -- you have a whole week to prepare!
> 
> -S&L

Harry woke up the next morning to the sound of birds twittering in the trees, sunlight filtering through the roof of the tent. He stretched, yawning, before hauling himself up into a sitting position, his eyes still heavy with sleep. He fumbled around on either side of him for his glasses, before realizing he’d hung them on the front of his shirt, not wanting to lose them during the night, and slipped them on, thanking his past self for his attempt at being helpful.

He could hear the sounds of bubbling outside, over the sound of Ron’s snores, and stumbled out of the tent, nearly getting caught in the fabric of the door. He found Hermione boiling something over a campfire, and sat down heavily beside her, eyeing the pot with suspicion. For all of Hermione’s talent with potions, she hadn’t quite figured out edible food.

“Let me.” Harry said, and Hermione, looking rather relieved, moved aside to let Harry take charge. The contents of the pot looked like oatmeal. Harry could do oatmeal. He stirred it gently before smiling lazily at Hermione. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” Hermione said. She rubbed at her eyes, yawning. “How did you sleep?”

“Great, but I don’t remember it, so don’t call me an authority.” Harry said, earning a fraction of a smile from Hermione. “I just-- I had a weird dream. That’s all. Same one I’ve been having for awhile. I just-- I don’t know what it means, and if it’s anything like the door from fifth year…”

“You’re afraid to look into it because you’re worried it’s a plant.” Hermione said, and Harry nodded, thankful that she’d found the right words for his thoughts yet again. “We can research it beforehand, to avoid that happening a second time.”

“It’s-- Someone named Gregory Vitch. He’s got something that-- that--” Harry frowned. Should he say Voldemort’s name or not? Could he be overheard, despite all those spells? “That, uh, Riddle wants. I don’t know what it is, but he wants it, and he wants it bad.” He cleared his throat. “Maybe a nose, right?”

This joke fell flat, Hermione looking anxious at even the sound of Voldemort’s name, and Harry went back to stirring the oatmeal.

“How often are we planning to move around?” Harry asked. “Do we know if we’re being watched?”

“If we’re being watched, hopefully they can’t find us.” Hermione said. “We’ve got enough protective spells layered over the space, but there’s always a chance of failure.” She sighed. “I don’t-- I know we have to think about it, but… could we have a minute? Without any of that?”

“Do you ever wonder if we would’ve done this? Without the war?” Harry asked. “If we were just messing around before seventh year and jobs and adulthood, if we’d have just packed up and gone camping?”

“Us? Camping?” Hermione laughed, as if the thought of them camping at any other time was utterly unbelievable. “Not a chance.”

“I doubt I would’ve gone.” Harry said, scooting back from the fire to curl in on himself a little. “I’d have missed my parents too much.” Even just bringing them up caused a deep, soul searing ache to bloom within him. Harry had always been close to his parents, and any fights they’d had had never lasted long enough to cause any permanent damage. As uncool as it was to enjoy their company, he did, and wholeheartedly, and to suddenly be without them was both shocking and upsetting. “It’s-- It’s weird, isn’t it? That first day you’re not with them? You’ve-- You’ve dealt with it before. You dealt with it first.”

“It’s different.” Hermione said, frowning. “What makes it easier is that you realize staying with them… It would’ve made them targets, if either of us had stayed. The Muggleborn Registration Commission is taking people, just like your father said they would, and they’re only going to be more obvious about it as time goes on. I’m probably pretty high on their list.” She hung her head. “You start to realize what’s really important, I guess, when you have to step back from a relationship like that.”

“Has it been worth it?” Harry asked, and Hermione eyed him in confusion. “Has it been worth it? Leaving them behind.”

“Sometimes.” Hermione said, after a moment’s thought. She bit her lip, picking a leaf up off the ground and spinning it around by the stem. “Sometimes, it feels worth it, but I know it was the right thing to do.”

“Okay.” Harry said, nodding. He blinked away tears, telling himself it was from the smoke rather than the burning feeling in his chest. Were the kids okay? Were his parents okay? Had they all survived the attack untouched? Had they made it out, like they’d planned? Or had their plans changed? “Okay. I get that.”

A rustling from inside the tent caught their attention, and a moment later Ron appeared from behind the entrance flap. He stumbled forward, taking a heavy seat next to Hermione, pressing his face into her hair with a yawn. “Morning.”

“Hey Ron.” Harry grinned, trying to erase all evidence of sadness from his face. “How’d you sleep?”

“Dreamt I was a curse breaker in America, but my wand was a chicken wing.” He said. “So about the same as usual.”

“Sit down, breakfast’s almost done.”

“What’s on the menu?”

“Oatmeal, made by Hermione and rescued by me.” Harry joked. “Have we got bowls, or are we just sharing?”

“I made it in a bowl, and I’ve brought spoons out.” Hermione shrugged. “We’ve done weirder things.”

Harry took the pot off the fire, and Ron immediately snatched up a spoon and dug in, making a face as the hot cereal burned his tongue. Harry laughed as he cast a mild cooling charm, making sure it was edible, and grabbed a second spoon, scooping up so much that he worried, for a second, that it would fall right out and back into the pot. He got it to his mouth just in time, and felt relieved until he realized what was in it.

“Is that-- did you put raisins in here?” Harry gagged, nearly spitting the mouthful back out.

“Yes.” Hermione frowned. “Raisins are good for you. They’re a good source of fiber and energy and are great for dental health.”

“You’re crazy.” Harry muttered miserably. “Thinking I’d care about my teeth at a time like this. People are dying, Hermione.”

“Makes the texture kind of weird, but oatmeal is already mushy as hell.” Ron said around a mouthful of food.

“I’m glad we agree.” Hermione turned up her nose at Harry theatrically. “We can just leave him here for Riddle. I don’t care anymore. I’m going home. I can’t help a raisin hater in good conscience.”

Ron laughed, digging another spoonful of oatmeal from the pot. “Where did we go wrong, Hermione?”

"I guess I'll die alone, in the forest, with no friends." Harry heaved a sigh, shoveling another spoon of oatmeal into his mouth. "This is shaping up to be my best summer holidays yet."

* * *

The wooden door swung open to reveal a short old woman, her white hair pulled into a bun at the back of her head. She had the same bright brown eyes as James, though the mischievous glint in them had dimmed some with age. At first, she seemed confused by the crowd of people at her door, but a bright smile spread across her face as she noticed James, Sarah so discomfited by the idea of someone potentially looking at her that she’d hid behind her father at the very sound of the door opening.

“Come in, come in.” She said, stepping aside, her eyes still on James, as if she couldn’t quite believe he was here. “I was wondering when you’d come.”

Once James crossed the threshold of the house, her hand closed lightly around his upper arm, as if she was leading a child away from danger. Given her age and James’ tendency to find and embrace trouble of all kinds, she must have done so more than she’d liked, so far.

“Travel was alright?” She looked back over her shoulder at Lily. “No trouble there?”

“We ah… We made it alright, but Harry hasn’t arrived yet.” Lily said, glancing back into the yard as though expecting him to appear there.

“Are you Appa’s aunt?” Anne asked, still standing as close to her father’s side as physically possible.

“Oh, we’ve got a smart one.” The old woman smiled. “I’m his father’s older sister, yes.”

“Really?” Anne asked. “You’re too pretty for that.”

“So I’ve been told.” She laughed. “Come along then, let’s go sit.” She motioned to the mismatched plastic chairs of all colors scattered about the room, very similar to the Potter living room in England. The walls were covered in framed pictures of all ages, qualities, and sizes, giving it a rather cluttered appearance, not unlike the Burrow. The family that lived here had a history, and they weren’t afraid of putting it on display -- the children recognized a picture of their grandfather, wearing his usual stern and severe expression, hanging over the window, a set of dates engraved in a little brass plaque set into the frame.

It was Drew who realized first that the picture of the teenage boy hung beside his grandfather’s, black hair neatly combed and slicked down with what looked like a mountain of Sleekeazy’s and brown eyes wide in surprise, was his father.

“I thought that was Hari Anna!” Drew exclaimed. “You look just like him, Appa/”

“He does.” James admitted, smiling weakly. “It was the portrait off my Auror license, actually. I didn’t have another one, when my father passed, so I sent it on.”

“Yes you did.” The old woman, who’d busied herself with straightening the pillows of the couch under the window, said, her voice colored by a touch of annoyance. “Mailed your Auror license photo right to me with the shortest letter known to man.” She shook her head. “Your poor mother. However did she manage you?”

“They stopped at one for a reason.” James laughed. “Right. Introductions. This is my aunt Subhadra. Kiddos, you can call her Patti (grandmother), if you want.” He looked to his aunt. “Any fun facts you want to say?”

“About myself or you?” She teased, before sitting down. She picked up a pair of thick glasses from the end table beside the couch, slipping them on before looking around the room for what must have felt like the first time, looking at each child in turn. Her eyes lingered on Anne, then Lily, for a few moments longer than the rest, and she nodded contentedly. “Yes, they look just like the pictures you sent.”

“What else would they look like?” James joked, and she reached out to swat at his arm.

“Periyavan enga?” She asked, frowning as she cast a furtive glance at Lily. (Where’s the oldest?)

“Angaeye.” James sighed. “He’s… busy with other things.” (Back there itself.)

“Like father, like son.” She shook her head. “Now, which one of these ones is which? Your father told me all sorts of things about you, but forgot to put names to faces.”

“I’m Anjali.” Anne introduced herself, nudging Matt to prompt him to speak, though he still looked rather zoned out.

“Matt. Madhu.” He mumbled, clenching his fists in his lap.

“I’m Drew-- the middle triplet. Aditya, that is. I prefer Adi, if that’s okay with you.”

Lily gently ruffled his hair, smiling tiredly at Subhadra. “I’m Lily. James has told me so much about you.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you.” She said, smiling brightly. “For years and years. This boy wouldn’t stop.” She cast a fond glance at James, who was looking rather annoyed. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Lily laughed, pushing some of her disheveled hair from her face. “Good things, I hope, though Merlin knows there’s plenty of both to be said.”

“Wonderful things, don't worry.” Subhadra smiled. “You managed to tie him down, so you must be some kind of saint.”

“I wasn't that much trouble.” James protested.

“Of course you weren't.” She smiled sweetly. “It wasn't you who would go sit on the roof at any provocation, was it?”

“It was.” James admitted grudgingly, pointedly not making eye contact with any of his children. “In my defense, I thought it was funny.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, the children trying to take in as many tiny details of the room as they could, now that they knew they would be staying here. The chips in the bluish green paint spoke to years of wear, and the little Muggle appliances in bright colors scattered round the room confirmed their suspicions that their father had grown up at least partially immersed in Muggle culture.

“Appa grew up here?” Anne whispered.

“I don’t know how much growing up he did.” Subhadra laughed. “He spent a lot of time here. This was my father’s house, so he came and went often in the summers. He was the first child in the family almost ten years, so we spoiled him well.”

“You mean you did.” James corrected with a smirk. “And Patti, but that was because she felt bad that Thatha wasn’t overly fond of me.” The longer he spent in this room, the more he seemed to feel at ease, the tight set of his shoulders relaxing and some of the tension in his body dissipating. “Of course, the last time you saw me, I’d just turned… seventeen, was it? Yes, I had, that March. Stayed for the whole summer. After that… things got difficult.”

“Nineteen seventy-seven.” Subhadra confirmed, without a second’s hesitation. “Twenty years ago.”

“You haven’t seen him in twenty years?” Drew’s eyes widened.

“Extenuating circumstances.” James said, scratching his head awkwardly.

“What kind of circumstances?”

“My husband.” Subhadra said, brushing of James’ worried glance her way. “He’s taken care of now, so that’s nothing.”

“That sounds ominous. What kind of taken care of?” Anne asked.

“Dead.” Subhadra deadpanned.

“I like her.” Sarah said, surprising everyone. “She’s funny.”

“And this was the one you named after me, correct?” Subhadra asked, and James nodded, fiddling with his fingers. “I can see why.”

“They’re all good kids.” James nodded.

“That’s one way of putting it.” Lily laughed, pressing a kiss to the top of Matt’s head.

“Some of us are better than others.” Anne said, her joke falling flat as she seemed to remember Harry’s absence.

“That's true of all children, I feel.”

“I wouldn’t know, I don’t have any.” Anne said, tugging at a strand of hair.

“A good choice.” James said. “You're too young for that.”

“Too young for a lot of things.” Lily murmured. “I’m sorry… I think maybe the kids should turn in for the night. It’s… been a bit of a long day.”

“You're all in your dress robes too.” James said, suddenly realizing. “And the time change as well… yeah, it's time for bed.”

“You too, James.” Lily said pointedly. “You take them and turn in. I’m going to wait up a bit.”

“You sure about that?” James asked. “I guess he'll need… yeah. Come on kids. Bedtime.”

The kids got up, each stopping to hug Lily before following James further into the house. She smiled at Subhadra, getting to her feet and moving towards the back door. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough.” She said quietly.

“What are you looking for?” Subhadra asked.

“I’m just waiting.” She answered, eyes trained on the yard. “Just… waiting.”

* * *

“I made you guys a list. That's how much I love you.” Harry dug a crumpled sheet of notebook paper out of the pocket of his jeans. The trio was sitting around the campfire, a warm dinner tucked away in their stomachs, as the light faded around them, the trees around their campsite casting long, branched shadows onto their faces. “Anyway, here's what we know about the Horcruxes.”

“This is the shortest list I’ve ever read.” Ron winced, glancing at the list over Harry's shouler. “And please consider my homework history when I say that.”

“I didn't say we know a lot.” Harry pointed out. "Just that I had a list."

“You really weren't kidding.” Hermione sighed. “Alright. Explain it.”

“Item one: we know of three that have been destroyed -- the diary, the locket, and the ring. Dumbledore destroyed the locket and the ring, and I destroyed the diary.” Harry put a checkmark by the first item. “Item two: to destroy a horcrux, you've got to make sure it can't be fixed with magic. Read that in a book somewhere. I used a basilisk fang on the diary, and Dumbledore used the Sword of Gryffindor on the locket, but I don't know what he did to the ring. Item two point five: That's why he tried to leave me the Sword. So we'd have something. He knew it would be us that went looking rather than the Order. Item three: Tom's soul is divided between these Horcruxes, so if we kill them all, we can kill him. Like really, honest to God, actually murder him as my dad intended.”

“That’s all well and good, but we don’t have the sword or a basilisk fang on hand.” Ron pointed out. “Unless Hermione has some contraband stashed in her bag.”

“But how many are there?” Hermione asked.

“That's where we run into a spot of trouble.” Harry coughed nervously. “We don't know.”

“We don’t know.” Ron repeated, rubbing at his face.

“We've got sources that say potentially seven, but we don't know if he got there.” Harry said, poking at a rock inches away from him with the splintered remains of a stick. “Your soul apparently gets all wonky if you split it too much, so we don't know if he did it, but he's definitely murdered enough people to make seven, for sure.”

“We don't know how many there are, but he can be killed only when we've gotten all of them.” Hermione said, nose wrinkled in disgust. “Perfect. So we're just hunting each one and then checking on our good old friend to see if we can kill him properly yet?”

“I mean, I’d rather not, but--”

“Not that I’m surprised that Dumbledore didn’t tell you anything, but… jeez, he really didn’t tell you anything.” Ron groaned. “Okay, do we have any idea what the other horcruxes are?”

"Being murdered tends to work like that." Harry deadpanned.

The trio fell silent, all three of them staring into the depths of the fire. It felt wrong to say anything, felt wrong to break the quiet peace that had descended upon them, but it was getting late, and Harry knew it would be safer inside the tent than not, regardless of all the enchantments cast upon the campsite.

“I mean, they kind of fall into two groups." He began hesitantly. "Things that are important to him, like the diary and the ring, and things that have connections to Hogwarts, like the locket. It had that S on it, remember? With the snake. It makes sense. He didn't really have a home before Hogwarts. There's nothing from his childhood that he'd want to hide his soul in, other than the diary, and we've done that in already.”

“Okay, but the locket was also pretty obviously connected to Slytherin. You think the other ones would be, too?” Ron suggested.

“How many things are connected to Slytherin that aren't in Malfoy’s house?” Harry said, not entirely joking. “We'd have to break into Malfoy Manor.”

“It would make sense, though.” Ron said. “Isn’t Malfoy’s dad a bigwig death eater? I can see You-Know-Who entrusting him with a horcrux.”

“Yeah, he already did.” Harry pointed out. “The diary was all him. Doubt he’d give Malfoy a second chance, seeing as it didn’t work as a world domination scheme.”

“What?” Ron sat up straighter, brow furrowing. “What do you mean the diary was all him?”

“Malfoy gave the diary to Ginny.” Harry frowned. “Lucius. Not Draco. That’s an important distinction. Makes it creepier.”

“Just a little bit.” Hermione, who looked absolutely furious, said. "Like Draco wouldn't have done it himself if he'd had the chance."

“Bastard is always bragging about dark artifacts all over his big, fancy house. One of ‘em is bound to be possessed.” Ron said.

“I mean, let’s look at bigwig Death Eaters, then.” Harry said, trying to cycle back to Ron’s earlier thought. “Who’s a big Death Eater?”

“Well there’s the Carrow siblings… The Lestranges, of course, and, uh, well Theo’s dad. Thorfinn Rowle. Walden Macnair, we think, and some guy named Yaxley.”

“So, half of those people are in jail, which presents a big problem.” Harry said. “Hermione, what’s the problem?”

“Their valuables have been seized by the State.” Hermione said. “Which means they’re either stored in the Ministry or in Gringotts, and neither option is ideal.”

“Might as well go all the way, if we’re gonna be fugitives.” Ron shrugged. “Who’s ready to rob a bank?”

“Welcome to the team, Ron.” Harry chuckled. “We’re going to be entirely unemployable after this, but at least Riddle will be dead, so that’s something.”

“I can’t believe you two.” Hermione shook her head. “I set a clear line. Just don’t get me expelled. And now we’re truants on the run from the law, planning to break into the government sponsored bank as well as a private residence with god knows how many Dark curses on it, so that obviously didn’t work.” She groaned. “I should’ve set a harder limit.”

“Well I did say you needed to get your priorities in order. They seem pretty straight, now.” Ron bumped his shoulder against hers.

“You do have a point.” Hermione admitted. “Saving the world does always come first, when you’re in league with Harry Potter.”

“Damn right.” Harry laughed. “Alright, back to business, so what do we have to do first? I mean, we know some things about Horcruxes, but we need a way to destroy them that doesn’t need basilisk fangs or something equally expensive, because I can bet you actual money that my parents’ vault is being watched, since they’ve obviously disappeared off the face of the earth.”

“I can have a few leads ready by morning if I start now.” Hermione said.

“Awesome. Who needs sleep anyway?" Harry grimaced. "Hermione’s reading up. I’ll look more into what we have -- there’s the sessions with Dumbledore to sort through, and, uh, some things I’ve picked up this summer, thanks to, uh, that dream thing you told me to tell you about if it ever happened again.” His hands balled into fists, and he took a deep breath to steady himself. “Yeah. I’ll make a bigger list. And a couple more. Things we know about Riddle, things we know about who he’s with, what he’s been doing-- Ron, you could help with those last two. You knew a bunch of Death Eaters off the top of your head.”

“I’ve been listening in on Order meetings. Mum doesn’t know about it, but the twins are still of the mind that Ginny and I are gonna get ourselves in the middle of shit and needed to know what’s going on.” Ron said. “Which, obviously I have. Ginny’s probably going to be doing the same once she gets to Hogwarts for the year.”

“Hence the Great War.” Harry sighed. “Sarah’s still mad. We might’ve broken her longest running friendship, lads. Congrats to us all.”

“Please don’t ever refer to me as a lad again.” Hermione shuddered. “I feel violated.”

“Duly noted.” Harry nodded seriously.

“Well. They aren’t going to have a chance to make up for awhile.” Ron mumbled.

“Depends on how quickly we end this.” Harry said. “The faster we end this, the faster they make up, and the faster our lives stop being unnecessarily dramatic.”

“Let me get this straight.” Hermione said. “Your motivation to end this war isn’t the potential genocide, or the harm it could pose to your family, but making sure your sisters stop fighting.”

“I mean, those things are absolutely factors.” Harry put his hands up, as if trying to explain himself. He hoped Hermione knew he was joking, but judging by her expression, it seemed highly unlikely. “But yeah, if we’re being honest, I would love it if Sarah quit moping about how hard being friends with Ginny Weasley is. We all know.”

“We all have stakes in this war, big and small. As long as it keeps us going, right?” Ron shrugged.

“As long as it keeps us going.” Hermione agreed. “We can’t finish it if we’re not there.”

“So let’s get working.” Harry said. “Nobody believed three kids and a backpack full of books could do half the things we did, so let’s close this out with a showstopper.”


	6. Adulthood Kinda Sucks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t think war chooses anyone, James.” She said, offering a watery smile. “It just takes.”
> 
> “Well, then we’ve gotta give it something it’ll never forget.” James shrugged. “Remind it not to mess with us.”
> 
> “I thought that’s what we did the last time.” She said. “And yet here we are again.”
> 
> “Well, unfortunately, war, like Voldemort, doesn’t do well with reminders.” James shook his head. “Don’t know how we’re going to kill that off. Concepts are harder than people, from my experience.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anxiety attack, a trip to the supermarket, an argument about who's better at torture, and a brand new fresh meme. A mixed bag to soothe the soul. We'll see you next Friday with an update on whoever that Gregory Vitch guy is.
> 
> -S&L

“We get to share a room!” Drew’s voice was a poor copy of his usual enthusiasm, just as the smile pasted across his face was obviously fake. “We haven’t done that since we were little.”

“Mmhm.” Matt stood behind him, hovering close to the door as though ready to make a quick retreat. “I don’t remember when we shared a room, though.”

“Me neither. We were babies.” Drew said, sitting down on one of the twin beds. “Oh, man, this is hard.” He bounced up and down a few times, watching as Matt finally crossed the room to run his hand across the thin blankets.

The sheets were thin, much thinner than the comforters Matt always used even in the height of summer back home in England, and were nearly worn through in places. Neither boy guessed that the blankets were much older than either of them, the lines of connected diamonds that looked oddly like lightning and bright stripes of color printed on the brilliantly blue cloth having lasted through decades of usage. The beds they sat on matched, as if they were meant for brothers, as if the room had always been meant for two people to share, and something about it told them that they weren’t the brothers it had been intended for. The pictures scattered round the walls of the room showed two boys growing up, both brown eyed and black haired, and judging by the empty hooks and neat squares of darker paint on some of the walls, someone had recently taken a few down.

“We kind of still are.” Matt mumbled, sitting down across from his brother. “We’re not even teenagers yet.”

“We’ve sure seen a lot of shit for a pair of not-teenagers.” Drew shrugged.

“Shh!” Matt glanced at the door as though expecting their father to appear and scold him for his language. “Don’t say stuff like that. Amma and Appa might hear you.”

“Sorry.” Drew mumbled, rubbing a hand through his hair, a habit he had probably picked up from James or Harry to early to remember.

Matt watched the movement with a heavy air of regret, his mind a thousand miles away, back in England with their eldest sibling.

They lapsed into a heavy silence, and Drew turned to stare out of the single window into the backyard. The grass was just as yellow and dry as it had been when they’d left, the evening sky a captivating mix of reds, pinks and blues. It looked lonely, as if it had been waiting for children to play in it for a long time. They were there now, but he doubted anyone was in a playing mood, or that they would be for weeks, if ever.

“Madhu… Are you okay?” He finally asked, still staring through the glass, knowing that Matt would be staring down at his own lap. “I mean, I know you aren’t really… big on change, and with… with Hari Anna….” He cut himself off, biting his lip.

“I’m… really scared. I mean, more scared than I usually am?” Matt frowned, clenching his hands together and staring at his nails, which were bitten down to the quick. “A-and I don’t know what to do with that. Because the scary stuff is so big, and we’re… not.”

“... Yeah.” Drew finally looked at his brother, who was hunching in on himself and gasping in short, shallow breaths.

“And then there’s Hari Anna, who is probably scared too, and I’m scared for him. And for us, and for… everyone who couldn’t leave, like we could.” Matt said, his voice breaking as he continued talking. “Because we can’t help them, and I don’t know how long we’ll be here or when it will be over, or who will be left if it even ends.”

“Madhu, don’t think like that!” Drew got to his feet, moving to stand in front of him.

“I’m trying!” He wailed, pressing a hand against his face. “But the thoughts are just so much and they don’t stop!”

“Hey, it’s alright, here.” Drew knelt down, reaching out to gently pry his younger brother’s hands away from his face, holding them tightly in his own. “Let’s do that thing with the breathing, right? Where we take a deep breath and hold it for… um, five seconds?”

“Eight.” Matt gasped, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Yeah, eight seconds. And then let it out really fast.” Drew coached him. After several rounds of this, Matt let out a final shuddering breath and pulled one hand away to wipe at his face.

“Sorry…” He sniffled.

“Don’t worry about it, alright? I’m sorry I freaked you out.”

“I’m always freaked out.” Matt mumbled.

“Okay, then I’m sorry I freaked you out even more.” Drew sat down beside him on the bed, leaning their shoulders together. Another silence fell over them, this one marginally more comfortable than the last.

“I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

* * *

“First of all, the real question.” Harry said, casting a glance around the small, sleepy town they had Apparated to just hours before. Hermione had said it was a popular destination for traveling university students, so they wouldn't be looked at too closely by the locals, nor would the Ministry be keeping an eye out for them. “Where the hell are we?”

“Does it matter?” Ron tugged at the sleeves of his ink-stained sweater. “We’re just here to buy food and leave.”

“Let's go over our plan.” Hermione said. “First of all…”

“Plan?” Ron frowned at his girlfriend. “We’re grocery shopping. Why does that require a plan?”

“We're going to go in and out as quickly as possible.” Hermione said, ignoring Ron’s comments. “Only buy things that are on the list. We pay in cash.”

“This is starting to sound like a robbery.” Harry said. “Except I don’t think you pay people for robberies.”

“Come on, take it seriously.” Hermione scowled. “We have to be careful. We can't just take these things lightly.”

“I know, I know.” Harry sighed. “We’ll keep to it. As fast as possible.”

“Should we have worn disguises?” Ron asked, rubbing a hand through his hair.

“Probably.” Harry nodded seriously. “Got to avoid all those Death Eaters that frequent their local Muggle grocery store.”

“Boys.” Hermione groaned. “Some level of seriousness would be appreciated. Please.”

“I was being serious,” Ron said, shoving at Harry with a laugh, “unlike some people.”

“Listen, I never said that was a strong suit.” Harry argued. “I’m just-- I’m trying to make this a little easier on all of us, okay?”

“Aw, c’mon. I’m just teasing.” Ron threw an arm around Harry’s shoulder.

“I know, I know.” Harry leaned his head on Ron’s shoulder. “You’re making an effort and I value it.”

“Keep whatever this is”, Hermione motioned in their direction, “inside the tent, please.”

“I can’t mess around with your boyfriend in public?” Harry feigned shock. “I can’t believe her! How dare she? I guess you’ll have to date me instead, Ron. At least I let you hold her hand.”

“Oh Harry, I’ve been waiting to hear those words from you.” Ron gasped, pressing a hand against his forehead.

“This is the perfect setting for this kind of stuff.” Harry mused. “Nature’s all around us. We’re surrounded by bugs and leaves. What better place for love to blossom?”

“We should have brought the second tent, schnookums.” Ron said.

“The other tent sounds like a great place for that.” Harry winked. “Ahd for other things.”

“You’re disgusting.” Hermione pointed at Harry. “And you’re-- I don’t know what you’re doing, but don’t do it.” She pointed at Ron. “Can we please get going?”

“Sure thing, babe.” Ron planted a kiss on top of Hermione’s head as they got to their feet.

“I mean, I don’t know why she’s worried.” Harry said, as he reluctantly trudged toward the door of the tent. “It’s not like she’s cooking.”

“I would like to eat this mystical food you seem to be discussing.” Hermione grumbled.

“Too bad it’s only a concept.” Harry teased. “Can’t eat concepts just yet. Science will catch up someday, don’t worry.”

“Yeah, leave the cooking to us. Concepts into reality and all that.” Ron stretched as they passed out into the chilly morning air.

“Hey, quick question.” Harry said, frowning. “If we leave this spot, do the charms still hold? Like can we go out and come back and still see the campsite? Or do we just lose the ability to see it?”

“We were part of the enchantment, so I suppose it should hold.” Hermione frowned. “If we were to go and come back, it should still be visible to us.”

“We should test it to be sure.” Ron suggested. “Two of us leave the site while one of us stays, just to be safe. Once we confirm they’ll hold and it’s still visible, we can head into town.”

“Good call.” Harry nodded. “Alright. Who’s it going to be?”

“Ron.” Hermione said, though she looked rather regretful. “People are searching for me, and for you too, by this point. I mean, they’re searching for all of us, but Ron is in the least danger. Sorry, Ron.”

“They’re probably searching for all of us.” Ron said. “At this point it’s pretty much common knowledge that we’re a team. But yeah, one second.” He stepped away from the other two, heading towards the edge of the campsite and passing the point where Hermione had set up the barriers. He turned around after a few more steps and flashed them a thumbs up. “All good, I can still see you.”

“Okay.” Hermione hesitantly followed Ron out past their boundaries of their campsite, before nodding. “It’s safe to come out.”

“Alright then.” Harry, who was much more nervous than he’d let on previously, jogged over to his friends. “So how far is the town from here?”

“About fifteen minutes, as long as we set a decent pace.” Ron said. “We’ll have to camp further out once we have more supplies.”

“Shifting that might take awhile.” Harry frowned. “Should we shift camp first and then go? Hermione’ll need to redo everything, and it’s more time out in the open, and--”

“And you called me paranoid.” Hermione smirked.

“I can be serious sometimes.” Harry grumbled.

“If she does it now, there’s no point going into town first, is there? We’d be apparating all over the place.” Ron hummed.

“True.” Harry sighed. “I’m just stalling, I guess. Come on. Let’s go. We won’t go if we don’t start now.”

The three of them set off through the woods, a comfortable silence falling between them as they trekked over old roots and under low-hanging branches. The town eventually became clear, and when they passed the treeline it sat before them. It was a small town, with only a few stores, restaurants, and other buildings.

“What do we need?” Harry asked, looking furtively around the street, like a Death Eater might jump out at any moment and he had to be prepared. His hand was closed around the handle of his wand, which was in the pocket of his jeans.

“Just the basics.” Ron tugged a wrinkled piece of notebook paper from his pocket. “Canned and boxed things we can make over the fire or on the portable stove Harry nicked from his mum. Rice, vegetables, a little bit of fruit, so we can eat it before it goes bad… Might be fun to grab stuff for s’mores, too.”

“Fruit’s important.” Harry agreed. “You can get whole diseases from not eating enough fruit.”

“Enlighten me.” Hermione said. “How would you get anything but a whole disease? Like how would you just get half?”

“You know what I meant.” Harry stifled a groan as they reached the grocery store. “Come on, let’s get this stuff and go.”

Ron pulled a cart from the dock, rolling it back and forth curiously. “What the bloody hell…?”

“Have you never seen one before?” Harry asked curiously.

“What is it?” Ron asked, reaching into the cart to open and close the baby seat.

“You put the things you’re buying in it.” Harry said. “It’s to carry your food until you put it in the bag.”

“Muggles sure know how to get shit done.” He said.

A few older people frowned at Ron, and Harry wasn’t sure whether they were angry about a young man cursing, or trying to find out what the word Muggle meant.

“What do you use?” Hermione asked, wisely omitting the fact that Ron was a wizard from her question. “Do they have supermarkets… where you live?”

“Um… well, we grow a lot of our own food in the garden, because it’s a lot cheaper.” Ron said. “When we have to go into town, we get meat at the butcher’s, and mum tends not to buy stuff at the bakery but sometimes the twins will get something. There are usually markets where we can buy more specific stuff like jam or honey, and mum will mail-order other things.”

“That’s complicated.” Harry let out a low whistle. “Mum just takes us to the supermarket and threatens to leave us there. Sarah’s mastered adding things to the list when she isn’t looking, so that’s the only reason all five of us still live at home.”

“Mum likes to make sure we eat well, and that woman loves to bake.” Ron laughed, seemingly entertained by wheeling the cart through the aisles as Hermione tossed food into it. “So I’ve never seen a problem with it.”

“Mum likes the nostalgia of grocery stores, but I don’t think she actually likes them.” Harry mused aloud. “Dad’s the one that likes that stuff. If it’s boring, he’ll get excited about it.”

“Neither of my parents are fond of shopping.” Hermione said. “They do run past the candy aisle like it can give them cavities from afar, though, which is always funny to see.”

“Right, because they’re dentists.” Ron said, seemingly pleased that he had remembered the title correctly.

“They are.” Hermione said, smiling fondly at Ron. “What sorts of things does your mother bake? Everyone else has had their nostalgia moments. Let’s give Ron a turn.”

“Oh, all sorts of shit.” Ron said. “Pumpkin pasties, treacle tart… she’s got this nice recipe for a homemade version of cauldron cake, so that’s always fun. My favorite is probably when she makes mince pies, I guess.” He paused, staring thoughtfully into their cart. “I’m going to miss her cooking, frankly.”

By complete accident, they happened upon the canned food aisle, and Harry began carefully stacking cans of beans, corn, and soup in the cart. A few toppled over, and he cursed under his breath as the edge of a can squished his fingers.

“I hate stupid metal.” Harry grumbled, rubbing his sore fingers. “We got enough?”

“I mean, it’s not as if we’ll be camping forever.”Hermione said, casting a furtive glance about the aisle. “Check how many servings are in each can and we’ll calculate out the number of meals we can stretch it for. Actually, Harry, instead of just getting individual cans, see how much we can save with a whole pack of them.”

“Shopping is complicated.” Ron hummed, reaching above his girlfriend in order to grab a pack, hefting it down with a grunt.

“It’s not the shopping that’s complicated, if you know what I mean.” Harry said, and barely caught a can thrown at his head. “Hermione! We would’ve had to pay for that!”

“Stop antagonizing each other. I will turn this trolley around.” Ron said sternly.

“We can’t turn it around Ron.” Harry whined, just a bit too loudly. Several old grandmothers looked at him oddly, whispering to each other behind their hands. “We need more beans.”

“Bean me, mate.” Ron said, maintaining intense eye contact with Harry.

Harry solemnly tossed him a can of beans. Ron, thanks to years of practice as a Keeper, caught it perfectly.

“I hate you both.” Hermione said. “Let’s go get more beans.”

“BEAN ME!”

* * *

The room they sat in had high, arched doorways cut into the white walls, one leading into the living room and the other into the hallway, at the end of which were the rooms the children had chosen. Those doors were closed, and stubbornly remained so, no matter how much Lily wished they would swing open to reveal Harry, unharmed and perfect, with a million stories to tell about how he’d found his way home.

Lily was standing at one of the windows, forehead pressed against the cool white wall. She knew where she was, and who she was with, but she couldn’t help but recall a different safe house from many years before. It had been a rundown cottage in the woods. Remus had been living there at the time, and had agreed to make them portkeys for emergency use. She wondered, idly, what had ever happened to the cottage.

She had hid out there with her one year-old son, praying to any deity that was listening to return her husband to her. As the days had gone on and Harry had begun to grow more cranky at the absence of his father, her hope had waned. By the time James had stumbled through the door, caked with mud and dry blood, she had nearly discounted him as a delusion pulled from her desperate mind.

Now, though, she would have welcomed such a delusion if it meant having peace of mind.

“Hey.” The door opened and shut, revealing her husband, who looked so much more like the son she’d lost that it hurt. “You alright?”

Lily closed her eyes, her form rigid against the window pane. It felt as if she moved even an inch towards her husband she would break into a million tiny pieces, all of them yearning to run back to England, back to her son. She had already lost so much to this war, and she had no more to give.

“Lily?”

She slowly raised a hand, stuffing one of her knuckles between her lips to muffle a sob.

He gathered her into his arms, squeezing her as tight as he could, as if the pressure would ground her.

“I can’t do this again.” She whispered, pressing the heel of her palm into one of her eyes. “James, I can’t do this.”

“We can’t, but we have to.” James said. “It’s-- I’m sorry. We didn’t-- we didn’t survive for this, but we keep coming back here.”

“You Potter boys will be the death of me.” She spoke into the fabric of his shirt, voice muffled as the tears she stubbornly attempted to quell leaked out.

“We’ve got an unfortunate tendency to do that, so far.” James said. “But there are two more Potter boys that we might be able to keep off that path, if we keep our heads on right.” He reached between them to wipe her tears off her cheek with the edge of his thumb. “I’ve got you. Let it out.”

She sobbed freely then, wrapping her arms around him tightly, as though she could keep him from leaving her if she just held on hard enough. She could almost see her son’s face in her mind’s eye, superimposed upon his father’s face. She could almost feel the ghost of the last time he’d hugged her, shortly before they’d left the house, all the children’s things packed up into backpacks that looked too small to hold their entire lives.

Harry had held her hand as they waited for James and Matt to complete a final walkthrough of the house, confirming all that had been left behind was replaceable. He’d hugged her right there in the street, in full view of the neighbors, the same way he often had as a toddler, during those faraway days before all the rest of the children had been born, and it was just the three of them.

James rubbed her back, whispering the most comforting words he could think of into her ear as he lead her to the bed, helping her sit down. It was a choreographed routine, one they were both familiar with -- she would fall and he would catch her and then they would repay the favor to each other in cycles.

“You need some rest, love.” He said, as gently as he could. “You know as well as I do that you need that time.” He tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear, a shadow of a smile appearing and disappearing like a flash of lightning. “This is horrible. We’re living a nightmare right now and all we can trust in is that our kid is out there somewhere and that he’ll come home to us. Excuse my language, but that’s fucking horrible. You know it, I know it, the kids know it. All we can do is take care of ourselves, I guess.” He ran a hand through his hair, a pinched expression on his face. “I’m sorry you have to go through this. You, the kids.” He sighed. “This shouldn’t be where we are.”

“We can’t just take care of ourselves.” Lily said hoarsely. “That was what we wanted to do, but then we had kids. And it’s what we tried to do now, and Hari’s gone off and-” She cut herself off, pressing her face into the pillow with a shudder.

“I didn’t say just.” James corrected. “There’s no just anymore. It’s all of us or none of us, and that’s impossible without him, but... We can’t just not try. We owe it to the other kids to at least try.”

“I just want to protect them…” She said. “I couldn’t stand it if I couldn’t protect them.”

“Neither of us could.” James said, lifting her chin up with the tip of his finger so their eyes met. “That’s why we were chosen to bear this. Or at least that’s what I’m choosing to think.”

“I don’t think war chooses anyone, James.” She said, offering a watery smile. “It just takes.”

“Well, then we’ve gotta give it something it’ll never forget.” James shrugged. “Remind it not to mess with us.”

“I thought that’s what we did the last time.” She said. “And yet here we are again.”

“Well, unfortunately, war, like Voldemort, doesn’t do well with reminders.” James shook his head. “Don’t know how we’re going to kill that off. Concepts are harder than people, from my experience.”

“They often are, unfortunately.” She sighed, pulling back in order to wipe at her cheeks.

“If they were any easier, I would’ve killed off homework a couple decades ago, which would’ve made my life much easier.” James squeezed her shoulder. “Come on, then. You said it earlier. Past everyone’s bedtime. And you’ve been running on empty for awhile, so you need it more than anyone else.”

“I’m pretty sure that as the professor you wouldn’t have had to assign it if you didn’t want to.” She mumbled, allowing her husband to steer her away from the window and towards the bed.

“Oh, I’m not talking about that part.” He said, helping her sit down on the bed. He sat down beside her, “I’m talking about the part where I had to do it. Unnecessary cruelty. You learn things, sure, but you can learn things any way you’d like. I mean, Sirius managed to, and we all know he didn’t do anything.”

“I mean, the wizarding grading system is kind of messed up.” Lily pointed out, collapsing against the pillows. “You can do nothing all year or not even bother going to class, as long as you pass the final exam.”

“It worked out great for me, so I can’t complain much.” James lay down beside her. “But I made sure my students didn’t take too much advantage.”

“I still can’t believe you became a teacher.” She mumbled, rolling over to rest her cheek against his shoulder. “If only teenage Lily could see us now.”

“Teenage James would call me crazy.” James laughed, rubbing her back gently. “Can you imagine him working with kids? A real mistake if I’d ever seen one.”

“I thought you did a pretty good job, though.” Lily murmured. “As a teacher, I mean. You’ve always been great with kids.”

“I do my best.” James said with a sigh. “Gets easier when you have good students. I got really lucky with most of them. Except Malfoy. He can take a long walk off a short pier directly into the mouths of a school of piranhas.” He scowled. “You know, I once considered paying off Lucius Malfoy to get him to shut up. Giving Lucius Malfoy money.”

“He would have accepted the money and then had you arrested for bribing a Ministry official.” Lily snorted.

“But his son might have shut up for thirty seconds.” James pointed out. “Damn, I would’ve taken that jail cell in a heartbeat. His annoying little voice all the time…. ‘Professor, I think we should do it this way’, ‘Professor, I know what I’m talking about’, ‘Professor, I don’t think you’ve understood the text correctly’. I’ve got news for him -- I’ve got eyes too. I can read. It’s how I got the job.” He chuckled. “Side note, I’m genuinely wondering whether his two goons, Crabbe and Goyle, actually know how to read. I’ve been reporting them to the headmaster for ages. Like you said, wizarding grading system is absolute rubbish and no one ever checks on these kids.”

“I can’t say muggles are any better at that, actually. People really need to keep a better eye on children.” She snorted. “God knows ‘Tuney and I got up to all sorts of shit as children that could have gotten us killed.”

“As the resident expert on that”, James said, “I’d like to remind you that magic is worse, even if it can cure some things.”

“Pointy sticks versus slightly less pointy sticks that shoot fire…” She hummed thoughtfully. “Who wins?”

“Torture with guns is less efficient than torture with wands.” James retorted, a gleeful smile on his face. Their debates were his favorite, and usually a good sign that Lily was feeling a little better. “Plus, wands don’t run out of ammunition.”

“Muggles get creative though- wizards just use the same spell over and over again. We reached crazy levels of cruel sometimes.” Lily pointed out, shutting her eyes and sniffling faintly.

“But that creativity also works in their favor.” James said. “Vaccination. Electricity. Hospitals that don’t still think bloodletting is a valid treatment for illness. I’d say the good creativity’s done has far outweighed the bad. As long as we have a bit of it, we’ll make our way out of anything.”

“Need people to listen to muggleborns more.” Lily said through a yawn. “I’m falling asleep, dear.”

“That’s good.” James kissed her forehead. “Should keep talking then, that’s doing the trick.” He cleared his throat, as if preparing an important statement. “Of course people need to listen to Muggleborns more often. Look at how great I turned out, after all that initial messing around. Started listening to you, got my life on track, and now I’ve somehow gotten myself fired from Hogwarts, which is the one thing Dumbledore never managed.” He paused for a second before grinning. “That obviously means I’m better than Dumbledore.”

“I didn’t realize that was up for debate.” She mumbled, not bothering to open her eyes. “I figured that was just a known fact.”

“Apparently is, but I’m glad we’re on the same side of that one.” Now that Lily’s eyes were closed, James’ smile faded and his brow furrowed, as if he saw no point in keeping up a charade that had been entirely for her benefit. He was a seasoned professional at acting like a clown for someone else’s benefit, and despite relentless efforts, had never quite lost his touch for it. He was glad about that now, as it was starting to come in handy again. “Let’s keep it a known fact, hm? I mean, let’s start listing reasons, shall we? I’m definitely smarter. All those books in his office were a hundred thousand percent just for show. I’m cuter. I’ve got this angelic face even in my late thirties and all he had was that nasty looking beard. Uh, let’s see, what else…”

Lily didn’t answer, and James realized rather belatedly that she had fallen asleep while he was talking.

Taking inspiration from his wife, James shut his eyes as well, hoping and praying for sleep to find him. All that did was his son’s face, shadows cast upon it by the weak morning light, but his green eyes wide and smile bright as the midday sun.


	7. Some Progress Is Made (Admittedly, Very Little, But Some)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back, back again? Rewrite's back, tell a friend!
> 
> After taking a year and some bits off for Capital R Reasons, here we are again, with a new chapter and renewed desire to see this story through. In writing this chapter (and the upcoming chapters, which you'll see over the next couple weeks), there have been a lot of laughs, a lot of tears, and a lot of Big Decisions about characters.
> 
> Just in time for Halloween, right?
> 
> We're picking up right where we left off, as books do: three kids chasing a dream and all the people they care about being eternally mystified by their methodology.
> 
> Round Two starts now.

Harry rushed into the tent ahead of Ron, running around in the woods having given him a peculiar burst of energy rather than tiring him out, to find Hermione sitting on her sleeping bag, a book open in her lap. A pile of them teetered threateningly beside her, and Harry dropped to his knees, balancing them properly before they could fall over onto her. 

“Hey.” He said, nudging Hermione’s shoulder, and she looked up from her book, confused, before smiling as she noticed Harry. “What are you reading?”

“Horcruxes.” She said, with a wave of her hand in the direction of the pile of books he was still trying to keep stable. Sure enough, the spine of each carried some reference to Dark Magic, Horcruxes, or death. “I’ve… liberated some titles from the library.”

“Oh my god. You stole.” Harry said gleefully, as Ron entered the tent. “You’ve been lecturing us like you’re some moral heavyweight this whole time, but you stole. From the Hogwarts Library. Oh my god. Hermione Jean Granger, master thief. I can’t breathe. Hold me, Ronald.”

“Of course if you were going to steal anything it would be books.” Ron sniggered, leaning over Hermione’s shoulder to plant a kiss on her cheek. “How’d you do it?”

“It was simple. There’s a charm binding each book to the Library, which is how your due dates and fines are calculated. It was a matter of finding the charm, isolating it, and breaking it to take the book off the Library’s records.” Hermione shrugged, as if such an undertaking were both normal and easy enough that everyone did it, from time to time. Duping Hogwarts’ Library, as far as either of the boys knew, had never been done before, and here Hermione was, talking about it as if it were a casual indiscretion, a little academic side project rather than fooling some of the most ancient charms around. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’re bloody brilliant, Hermione.” Ron let out a breathy laugh, obviously delighted by her continued ability to surprise him. 

“No kidding.” Harry said, still amazed. “What’ve you found?” He looked past the book she was finding to see a charmed pen scratching away at some notebook paper. “Wow, so we’re going full illegal here and messing with Muggle objects.”

“Well it isn’t as though we have a fellytone, so dad won’t be able to scold us for it.” Ron said, looking almost wistful at the mention of his father. 

“What’ve we got so far?”

“I was looking at the basics of Horcruxes, to refresh our memory, but I found something interesting while I was looking.” Hermione said, flicking her wand at the pen, which lay itself down on the notebook paper, as if taking a short nap. “Apparently the only way you can undo the separation of your soul that creates Horcruxes is through feeling remorse.” She scowled. “I doubt Tom’s felt any remorse in his life.”

“Unrealistic expectations.” Ron winced. 

“Tomothy.” Harry shook his head. “Not a chance. Everyone he’s killed, he’s liked it. And he’s wished he could do it again. Remorse is beyond him. Remorse requires caring at all. He doesn’t do that. Not his speed.”

“Tomothy?” He leveled his best friend with an exasperated look. 

“Listen, it’s safer not to use his name, and I might as well have a bit of fun with it.” Harry shrugged. “Tom, Tomothy, Timmy. If we’re not using his name, we might as well either use the name he wants us to forget or be so horrendously wrong that he understands we’re trying to disrespect him.”

“Tilly, Tomitha….” 

“Why stick to just his first name?” Hermione said. “There’s a lot that can be done with Riddle. Synonyms, antonyms, homonyms-- oh, don’t look at me like that, Harry. I know you know what those words mean. You’re just being wilfully ignorant again.”

“But back to the topic at hand. Remorse. That’s fucking impossible. He wouldn’t in a million years.” Harry grit his teeth. “Imagine being that worthless, that disgusting, that you couldn’t even consider a life other than yours worth living.”

“You’d have to be scum.” Hermione said, voice shaking with anger. “You’d have to be absolute scum, and that’s what he is.”

Ron let out a heavy sigh, taking a seat beside Hermione. He seemed to mull the topic over in his head for a moment before shaking it from side to side. “Death Eaters, too.” He finally mumbled. “To do what he said, and then say they were just following orders… that they feared for their lives... “ He shuddered in revulsion. “They killed my mum’s brothers, during the first war… Never even went to Azkaban for it.”

“We know how heartless the Death Eaters are.” Harry shook his head. “Peter Pettigrew gave up an infant child to Voldemort because it would serve his interests. I’m sure that if Severus Snape had the chance, he would’ve done the same.” He clenched his hands into fists. “Bellatrix, Rabastan, and Rodolphus Lestrange almost murdered Neville and his parents. Lucius Malfoy tried to sacrifice a child to bring a teenaged Voldemort back to power. You’ve got to be heartless to follow a man who believes that it’s his way or murder, and they’re certainly not doing themselves any favors with their actions.”

“We can’t just… We can’t just let them get away with it.” Ron ran a hand through his hair, the light of the lantern catching on the pale scars that wound up his arm. “Last time people got off easy. Sold out others to get a lesser sentence. We can’t let them do that now. They have to pay for the people they’ve killed.”

“Not a single one.” Hermione agreed vehemently. “Not a single one of them walks free. It sounds harsh, but we’ll have to be if we want to burn their ideals to the ground. If we live through this, if we win… Not a single one goes free. We’ll find them all and we’ll put an end to this before it has the opportunity to hurt anyone else.”

 

“And…” Harry took a deep breath. “And if we don’t make it, I know the Order will carry on that work for us. We can’t let a single Death Eater go unpunished this time. And we might feel bad, and it might be an upsetting road to walk on, but we’re dealing with people that think potentially killing off toddlers is right. We’re dealing with people that think genocide is a great way to spend an afternoon. There’s no room for debate with people who want you dead.” He swallowed hard, as if the truth of his words had sunk in just at that very moment. “We need to kill Voldemort once and for all and show people that thinking like that, thinking other people are lesser than you and that death is just… an acceptable means of reinforcing that… We’ve got to show everyone we’re not like that. When this is all over, we need to make sure everyone knows that.”

“Spoken like someone who actually holds themselves accountable for their actions.” Hermione said bitterly. “Instead of mindlessly following the directions of a man who has no one’s interests in mind but his own.”

“It’s hard to imagine he was ever a human being.” Ron stared forward, seemingly lost in thought. “After everything he’s done… how could he continue living if he felt anything close to remorse?”

“That requires humanity.” Harry scowled. “And as far as we know, neither he, nor the people who are working for him, are making any use of theirs.”

* * *

Harry woke with a start, sweating like a dog, a name on his lips that he had heard before, but still felt unfamiliar. He searched around for his glasses, finding them halfway tucked under his pillow, and slid them on with a sigh of relief. He’d been terribly wrong the first time he’d had this dream -- it hadn’t been Gregory Vitch, but Gregorovitch. He’d thought, at first, that this Gregorovitch was in Ollivander’s shop, but no, he’d been in his own -- Gregorovitch was a wandmaker. And not only was Gregorovitch a wandmaker, he’d played with forces beyond his pay grade -- he had something Voldemort wanted, or, really, he’d once had something Voldemort wanted, which was just as dangerous, a fact the Potters knew well.

Harry, as he often did, found himself listing off the things he did know, a habit Lily Evans had sought to ingrain in all of her children and had succeeded in doing with at least three. 

“Gregorovitch had a wand that Tom wanted.” He whispered to himself, careful to avoid waking Ron or Hermione. “Okay. That’s settled. Somebody stole it from him, but I’m not sure who. And he’s just gone and killed someone else. Great.”

“Who’s done what?” Ron’s voice suddenly rang out through the darkness, and a moment later his freckled face appeared in Harry’s line of vision. “You alright, mate?”

“He’s killed someone else.” Harry said, feeling rather awkward about how matter of factly he said it and that who’d done the killing required no explanation. “An old man, a wandmaker. His name was Gregorovitch. Or, I guess, maybe one of his names. Can’t saddle a child with the name Gregorovitch, right? What would you call him? Greg?” A high pitched, strained laugh bubbled out of him. “Shit, Ron.”

Ron shifted, sitting up and scooting his sleeping bag closer to his friend. A hand awkwardly reached out to pat his shoulder. “You don’t usually dream about what Timothy is up to unless it’s important.” He said thoughtfully. “So this has to mean something…” 

“It’s-- It’s been a while. Mum taught me how to keep my defenses up, but I guess… I guess I forgot.” Harry ran a hand through his hair. “Gregorovitch had something that Voldemort wanted. A wand. He didn’t have it anymore -- he’d lost it long ago, because some kid had stolen it from him. Jumped right out a window with it.” He frowned, trying to recall as many details as he could, but already they were fading, like his mind was locking them away somewhere he couldn’t reach. “The wand, it looked-- it was real different looking, even for a wand, not carved like Hermione’s, but it looked -- it looked more like an actual stick than any wand I’ve seen. I’d figure that means it’s old, right? Before people started figuring out how to make them look all nice and delicate, I guess?”

“Sorry, I don’t know shit about wandlore. Maybe ‘Mione does?” Ron shrugged, knocking his shoulder against Harry’s in a small offer of comfort. 

“Maybe, maybe.” Harry cast a glance over at Hermione, who was sleeping soundly for the first time all week. For all she pretended what she’d done to her parents hadn’t affected her, she woke often in the middle of the night shivering, apologies pouring out of her like they’d mean something to people who no longer knew who she was. “Let her sleep, though. We’ll ask in the morning, if we don’t figure it out before then.”

The more he lost touch with his Occlumency skills whether through lack of practice or forgetfulness, the more he felt that he was betraying his mother in some way. Not just her, both of his parents. They’d given him this chance to survive, one he wouldn’t have had if he’d had any other parents (because Harry, as children raised in happy, loving homes tend to do, considered his parents to be exceptional among their peers), and here he was, wasting their knowledge, their investment. 

“It was-- it was important. Something about this wand was special. When Gregorovitch said he didn’t have it anymore, that it’d been stolen… he was angry.” Harry’s hand balled into a fist. “He really wanted it. He needed to know where it was. I dunno, mate, can you make wands into Horcruxes? Or maybe it’s something he wants to collect?” He rubbed his eyes. “It’s something, though. Something important. Old magic. And Tom thinks he needs it and he’ll do anything to find it. Which means we can’t let him.”

“Old magic?” Ron made a face, obviously thinking back on his less than stellar grades in History of Magic. “Maybe we should find you a book to read.”

“I’ll read when you do.” Harry shot back. “And I’ve yet to see you doing any research, so don’t try that with me.” He nudged Ron with his shoulder, a faint smile on his face. “You’ve been slacking off, now that we don’t have to do homework.”

“Hey, if I ever become a teacher I’ll make sure not to assign homework. It fucking sucks.” He shrugged. “So at least I’m consistent.” 

“I did good on my OWL, but that’s only because Mum helped me cram. All I remember is treaties and witch burnings and stuff about Nicholas Flamel, though we didn’t learn that in class. Wrote a whole essay about him on that exam and the examiner didn’t even bat an eye.” Harry sighed. “Simpler times, right?”

“I’d write a thousand essays if it would have stopped this shit.” Ron laughed humorlessly. 

“If we were at Hogwarts now, a better Hogwarts, not the shit that’s probably there now…” Harry shook his head. “I’d be a worse person for it, I think, but I’d love every second. The kids, they’re finally back to normal. They’re finally bouncing back. It would’ve been a great time.” He allowed himself to slip into the comforting embrace of a daydream wrapped around what might have been a memory. “The kids have got their nerve back. Maybe it was the move, maybe it was something else, but they would’ve been great this year.”

“Hogwarts…” Ron groaned, rubbing at his face with one hand. “Ginny’ll be there all by herself this year… I tried to convince mum it wasn’t safe, but…”

“I guess we have to give something up to get something, right?” Harry heaved a sigh. “If I don’t-- If I don’t make it back, you’ll treat them like they were yours, right, Ron? I need to know.”

“Aw, mate, you know I will.” Ron offered a strained smile. “Just like I know you’ll do the same for me. Not that Ginny needs another big brother, but… y’know.”

“Yeah. You’ve got my words. We’re-- we’re family, Ron. If any of us doesn’t make it out, nobody gets left behind.” Harry nodded solemnly, heart feeling like a stone in his chest. Had his parents had this conversation with their friends? Had his mother wondered who would keep Aunt Petunia out of trouble if she died? Had his father worried about his friends? About Uncle Sirius, Uncle Remus, and maybe even Peter Pettigrew? Had going into hiding felt like this? Like they were running away from whatever fate had decided for them?

More than anything, he wished he could see them now, that he could know they were okay, but he knew too well that any kind of contact was risky -- anything could give away his location, where he was headed, why he was headed there and who he was with, on top of where they were hiding. It wasn’t safe. It wasn’t right. But as grown up as he looked and felt, Harry couldn’t shake the need to tell his parents he missed them again, just in case it could be the last time.

“We’re losing our minds.” He groaned, trying to lighten the mood. “Just the three of us in this goddamned garbage bag.” Harry felt bad, as soon as he said it, because he’d seen both garbage bags and Muggle tents before, and this was nowhere close to a Muggle tent, which bore a striking resemblance to a garbage bag. “I love you both but I feel like I’m just-- I feel like I’m just losing it, you know? Fuck, I need some sleep.”

“Yeah, let’s get some sleep.” Ron wrapped an arm around Harry’s shoulders, giving it a squeeze that brought comfort in only a way that a big brother could. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

“Maybe.” Harry said, thinking of the young man in Gregorovitch’s memory, one hand on the windowsill and a grin twisting his features into something dark and ugly. Something about the wand had seemed familiar, but maybe a little more sleep would sort it out. “Better keep my guard up this time, huh? Don’t want to witness another murder.” His smile slipped and Ron scooted ever closer. “Thanks, Ron. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“We’ve discussed this, dude.” Ron patted at his shoulder before moving to lay back down. “You’d die in a ditch.”

* * *

The day started like every other day had, on this camping trip from hell. It began around the small table squashed into the corner of the tent, Harry attempting to put together something resembling a breakfast. Hermione, of course, was banned from cooking. Ron sat at the table, idling thumbing through a thick book with a bored expression on his face. 

“What’s that?” Hermione asked, sitting down beside Ron. She rested her head on his shoulder, more for the purpose of reading his book rather than any intentional display of affection. “Oh, it’s about Dumbledore. And it’s-- Ronald! You’re reading Rita Skeeter’s tripe!”

“My Aunt Muriel gave it to me.” He said, obviously as displeased with the book as his girlfriend. “Said it’d broaden my horizons.”

“Your horizons do need some broadening, Ron.” Harry joked, from his place at the stove. “They’re quite small.”

“Sod off.”

“Are you trying to make me say his horizons are big so you can turn it into something dirty, Harry?” From the not so quiet laughter Harry was trying to hide, Hermione realized she’d walked right into his trap. “You’re a child.”

“I’m only seventeen.” Harry pointed out, having given up on all attempts at maturity now. “I can be as immature as I want.”

 

“Have it your way.” Hermione sighed. “Have you learned anything, Ron? It’s impossible to learn from the drivel Skeeter calls journalism, I’m sure, but--”

“Woah!” Ron suddenly sat up, jolting Hermione off of his shoulder. “Teenage Dumbledore!” 

“What does he look like?” Harry swept his wand over the pan on the stove, putting the cooking in stasis, and ran over to Ron, looking over his shoulder to see the picture.

Dumbledore had been a small boy with an impish smile. His eyes still squinted slightly over a large nose that would one day house a pair of thin glasses. Wavy brown hair was swept back from his face- just a bit too long to be fashionable. He stood with his arm around a boy with pinched looking features, a long, statuesque nose and cold blue eyes that Harry knew from somewhere, features that he’d seen just last night, framed by an open window. And the wand in his hand was oh so familiar, one he knew so well, one he was used to seeing in another hand. In Dumbledore’s hand.

“Oh no.” Harry said, feeling the bottom drop out of his stomach. “Oh no. This is not good at all.”

“That’s exactly what I thought.” Hermione said.

“Well if you’ve both got something to say, might as well get it over with. One, two, three.”  
“Voldemort’s looking for Dumbledore’s wand.”

“Grindelwald was a Nazi.”

Harry and Hermione stared at each other in disbelief.

“He wants Dumbledore’s wand?” Hermione asked, stunned.

“He means to kill me with it.” Harry said, as casually as possible considering he was discussing his own death. “What’s this about being a Nazi?”

“Well, if he wanted the wand because of old magic… And Grindelwald, a Nazi, has it…” Ron trailed off with a frown. 

“Where’d he end up?” Harry asked, feeling rather nauseous.

“Nurmengard.” Hermione said quietly. “He built it to hold his enemies, but he ended up imprisoned there.”

“That blows. We know wizarding prisons aren’t that good at keeping what’s meant to be in, in.” Harry shuddered. “Well, we know where Voldemort’s headed, when he’s got a free moment. Fuck.” He shook his head. “So what’s the link there?”

“Uhh, it says they were friends.” Ron said, picking the book back up. “Like, real good friends. Grindelwald moved in with Dumbledore after he was expelled from Durmstrang. They, uh… apparently did a lot of stuff together.”

“So Dumbledore was at the very least a reformed Nazi. Cool.” Harry scowled. “My parents were right. There always was something fishy about him. Always felt like he was… apologizing for something.”

“People can change.” Hermione said, though she didn’t sound like she believed her own words. “People can improve. Maybe… maybe the Order was his apology? Realizing he should’ve made better choices.”

“Well, I suppose it’s as good an apology as any.” Ron leant back in his chair with a frown. “A group to directly fight against what Grindelwald believed in. What Dumbledore used to believe in.”

“And Voldemort’s going to erase all the good Dumbledore did from the face of the Earth because all the people who weren’t convinced that he’d changed before are going to be hard to budge from this now.” Harry said, shooting a glare at the book. “People are going to talk this up until it’s so much bigger than it was. I mean, he dueled Grindelwald to save everyone and I’m pretty sure that’s a quick and easy way to end a friendship. This is as good as saying Dumbledore was in on every plan, though. Fuck. This is how it always starts, right, Hermione? You’ve read all that nonfiction. Someone writes the wrong thing and people take it too far.”

“Yeah.” Hermione’s voice wavered. “That’s always how it starts. Someone publishes a partial truth for the attention it’ll get them and then it all goes to hell.” She looked past Ron at Harry, taking Ron’s hand in her own like it was a lifeline. “The press always goes first, when someone’s trying to destabilize a regime.”

“They’ve been gone since the end of fourth year.” Harry said quietly. “The second they let Skeeter’s headline grabbing bullshit slide, that was it. Nobody cares about the truth anymore. And Dumbledore wasn’t a great person. He was a lying, manipulative arsehole who put everything else in the world over what should’ve been his priority -- keeping the kids in his school safe. He ruined a lot of lives by putting people like Snape in charge of classes. But that doesn’t-- good work, like the Order, that doesn’t just get struck out because he believed something bad once. People grow. People change. Just not Albus Dumbledore.”

“Dumbledore was over a hundred years old by the time he died.” Ron pointed out, putting what appeared to be the wrapper from a Weasley Wizard Wheezes toffee between the pages of the book to serve as a bookmark. “I suppose he had plenty of time to change his mind about things.”

“My dad-- he did some bad stuff, when he was at school.” Harry frowned. “But he joined up and fought for the right side when push came to shove. And, I guess Dumbledore, for all his faults, did too.”

“Watch, next week they’ll be saying he’s just as bad as Voldemort.” Hermione scoffed. “I hate people.”

“Me too.” Harry said morosely. “If we’d just stayed monkeys, things would be so much easier.”

* * *

“September first. Again.” Neville sighed, leaning back against his seat. “My last one, if I’ve got anything to say about it.”

Ginny sat across from him- the only two in the compartment. She was staring out the window, both her arms and her legs crossed, her fingers tap-tap-tapping at her arm. The stress of the summer and the missing Potters was only growing worse, now that she had confirmed that none of them were on the train. “I’ve still got a year left.” She said tersely, before grimacing. “Maybe.”

“Maybe you’ll get lucky. I hear some people have started trying homeschool.” Neville said. “Your mum might give up on formal education.” He rubbed his hands together. “I guess all the boys are done, I guess.”

“Maybe I’ll pull a Fred and George and drop out.” She sighed, reaching up to rub at her forehead. “No, if we’re still alive the DA will need someone to run it next year.”

“Next year. Wow.” Neville said. “What are we doing this year? We’ve got our new room, I guess. The place Theo and Luna told us about. When are they getting here?

“I dunno.” Ginny frowned, turning to look into the train’s main hallway. “They might be snogging in an empty compartment somewhere.”

“Luna’s been writing me all summer.” Neville said. “They’ve been dating since last… I don’t know the month, but it’s been almost a year, apparently. They’re serious. Of course, it’s Theo, I don’t know if he’s ever half-arsed anything in his life.”

“Yeah, I’d say Luna is starry-eyed over him, but I think she always looks like that.” Ginny’s expression softened as she thought of her best friend. “They’re sweet together.”

“They really are.” Neville agreed, beaming. “I think Theo needed an easy hand, for once.”

The compartment door slid open, revealing Luna’s perpetually dreamy expression. “There you two are. I was beginning to wonder if you’d missed the train...”

“We searched most of the compartments.” Theo said, a hand absentmindedly patting Luna’s shoulder. “Found a few firsties. Said hello. They seemed awfully scared of me.”

“Can’t imagine why.” Neville quipped. “Those kids’ll come after us in a few years asking why their first introduction to Hogwarts was a six footer Slytherin asking if they’d seen Ginny Weasley.”

“To be fair, I tried not to scare them too much.” Theo looked rather contrite. “But I suppose I may have.”

“It’s odd, isn’t it? Going back to school now.” Neville mused aloud. “It’ll just be us, in our year, Theo. Harry and the rest are… well, we don’t know where they are, I suppose, but they’re not here.” He looked about the compartment with fear in his eyes after he’d stopped talking, as if afraid they might be overheard. “I hope no one’s listening in. I always fuck that right up. Ugh.”

“No one’s listening.” Theo said with confidence, letting go of Luna to tumble into the seat beside Neville’s in a whirlwind of lanky limbs. “Once we shut the door, we’re dead to the world. A regular old folks’ home.”

Luna took a seat beside Ginny, tucking her limbs up onto the seat beside her tiny frame. “Time is circular, so I suppose we are old, in a way.” She hummed. 

“Young or old or dead, it doesn’t matter.” Ginny groaned, running a hand through her hair. “We have shit to take care of.”

“We’ve got the new home base, this year, so that’ll be something to start the year off with.” Theo said. “I’ve been planning some things over the summer. Ways to get us off the ground. Harry’s dad passed on a few things he’d been planning for us as seventh years for the group from last year.”

“We’ve had to memorize them, of course.” Luna hummed. “We wouldn’t want to be caught with the physical copies.”

“Quite right.” Neville nodded solemnly. “Ginny can have the physical copies so she can burn them after. I don’t need to know anything more than I do.”

“The networking with the Slytherins is coming along well. I may have a few more for you.” Theo said. “Mostly third and fourth years, so they’re a little on the young side, but it’s never too early to learn to defend yourself. Especially when they’re in the positions they’re in.”

“You’re a good man, Theo, but I’m not about to feel bad about Slytherins in a bad position.” Neville shuddered. “You’d think they’d shut the house down, with all the evil coming out of there.”

“Might be the only solution, at this point.” Theo sighed. “Ambition’s not evil on its own, far from it, but a whole lot of ambitious people seem to be evil.”

“It’s mostly just that so many terrible opinions and pureblood families congregate there, I think.” Luna tipped her head to the side. “It creates an environment where you’re expected to do bad things, so many of them do it.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Theo nodded slowly. “As always, Luna saves the day. Well done.”

“It’s only an observation.” She said with a soft smile. “It’s either that or they’re all being leeched on by Kretchens.”

“The Kretchens?” Theo asked, genuinely curious. “What are those?”

“Oh, they’re fascinating!” Luna sat forward in her seat, eyes alight. “They’re these tiny little creatures that most people mistake for household insects. They feed on negative energy, so they cultivate an environment in which everyone is miserable. It’s wonderful!”

“It’s not… wonderful, but…” Neville stammered. “It’s interesting, that’s what it is. It’s very interesting.”

“But if they feed on negative energy, wouldn’t it mean people would be happy?” Theo asked. “Or am I understanding it wrong?”

“Oh no, they don’t actually steal the emotions, it simply fuels them. Daddy isn’t quite sure how yet, but he’s looking into it.” Luna assured him. 

“I’d like to hear about it, when his research is done.” Theo smiled. “It sounds very interesting.”

“Of course! You know daddy would love to have you over to talk about it.” 

“You guys are going to make me gag.” Ginny groaned, pressing her head against the window.

“Fine, fine, we’ll stop.” Theo chuckled. “Right. Let’s appease our dear leader and plan some more, shall we?”

“If we learned one thing from Harry, it’s that planning doesn’t work.” Neville gently kicked Ginny in the shin, grinning. “Oh, sorry, did we appoint Ginny our leader now?”

“I appointed myself, since I’m the only one who can get things done.” She replied with a snort, kicking back at Neville.

“It seems good enough.” Theo shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

“You’re awfully content to let that pass without a fight, Theo.” Neville teased. 

“Who would listen to me?” Theo said, looking rather taken aback. “I’d rather not think about it. I’m getting the sweats already.”

“Theo’s too shy to do much leading.” Ginny pointed out. “He’s more like… a treasurer. I’d trust him with my money.”

“You say that because we’ve got none.” Theo said. 

“Okay, secretary then. How’s your handwriting?” Ginny asked. “I’d appoint Luna, but it’s impossible to read hers.”

“My handwriting’s all right.” Theo shrugged. “Luna’s the real judge of it, I suppose. I’ve been writing her all summer.” He didn’t realize, at first, that he’d said the latter part of it aloud and blushed so hard his head looked like it might fall off. “Forget it. I’ll be Treasurer. Less to do.”

“But your handwriting is lovely, Theodore!” Luna assured him. “I’ve hung your letters on my wall. They’re quite easy to read.”

“Hear that, loverboy?” Ginny snickered. “She hung them on her wall.”

“On her wall.” Theo repeated, shocked. “That’s nice. I didn’t think you’d like them that much.”

“You’re killing me.” Neville laughed. “God, I’ve been single too long. I’m not even feeling a bit of sympathy.”

“You could date me. I’m a catch.” Ginny told him, already laughing at the idea.

“I’ve heard what happens to men after they date you.” Neville shuddered. “I’d like to live another day, thanks.”

“Someone in the Slytherin common room said she eats her exes alive. I figured I’d leave it to Ginny to clarify the dating part, but I did make it clear to a certain weasel faced pureblood that she’s not afraid of a little murder.” Theo said, an innocent glee in his voice that had no place in a conversation even partially about murder. “He was shaking in his boots.”

“For Malfoy? I’d skip the dating and go straight to the murder.” Ginny assured him.

“Could you do it soon?” Theo asked. “I’m dreading the thought of having to deal with him daily again. The summer was a good break.” He seemed unconvinced by his own words and trailed off, looking out the window. 

“You alright, mate?” Neville asked quietly. “I know with your old man home, it’s been tough to get word out to anyone. Other than Luna, I guess.”

“Same as always.” Theo shrugged. “As long as there’s lots to do, I’m well practiced at keeping myself busy.”

“Good.” Ginny said seriously. “Because we’re going to be very busy for the foreseeable future.”


	8. Family Resemblance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s the same as it was twenty years ago, and even before that.” James said. “This swing’s been out here since before I was born, if you’ll believe it.”
> 
> “That’s an old swing.” She snorted, leaning further into him with the remark. “Surprised it hasn’t fallen out from under us.”
> 
> “Yeah, well, sometimes older is better.” James teased. “Look at me. I’m pretty great.”
> 
> Anne groaned, pulling away from her father, despite keeping her grip on his arm. “You’re terrible.” She rolled her eyes. “Terrible and ancient.”
> 
> “Ancient? That’s harsh.” James grimaced. “I’m only thirty-six, come on. Your mother’s older than that! Go after her!”
> 
> “I know, I know. You had Hari Anna when you were like, fifteen or something.” She sighed. “So you’re the ‘hip, young parents’.”

“Hey Teddy.” Ted Tonks’ ever present smile brought a levity to James’ heart that he hadn’t felt slip away -- between potentially losing a son and the general disorientation that came with visiting a home you’d left as a child as an adult, he’d found himself growing pensive and quiet, traits he’d never ascribed to himself before. “How are things?”

 

“Miserable.” Ted groaned. “Andi won’t let me leave the house, but I know why-- the commission will be after me soon enough. I’m not as far up the list as Lily and the rest, but… It’s awful to hear about. They’ve kept to spouses of Ministry employees for now, and it’s awful to hear the sorts of things that are coming out of there.” He paused for a second before frowning. “How come you’re calling through the network? Shit, James, they’ll be watching that.”

 

“Think of this as a burner fireplace. If your fireplace is on the network, I can reach it, but they can’t find me.” James said. “The network only extends officially throughout England. This is… This is an illegal connection. Calls only. No travel.”

 

“Illegal?” Ted’s interest was piqued. “Your doing?”

 

“Someone else’s.” James glanced over at a picture of his uncle, a former Head Auror, a stony faced man with the general appearance and approachability of a cliff, that hung on the wall. “I’ll take any help we can get.”

 

“It’s time, isn’t it?” Ted sighed. “For us to leave.”

 

“Long past it. Muggle means of transportation, if you can manage it.” James said. “I hear airplanes are convenient. Does Andromeda have papers?”

 

“We got them after the First War. Feels good to have been careful, now.” Ted said, eyes darting about. “We’ll make plans, then. To leave as soon as possible. Know any places that would make for a good vacation spot, James?”

 

“Australia’s nice this time of year.” James tried to keep his voice even, thinking of Hermione. Where was she? Where were any of them? Hopefully they were together -- it would’ve been all too easy to get separated, in the flurry of action that Bill’s wedding had devolved into. “Might want to look into it.”

 

“We’ll do our due diligence.” Ted said solemnly. “Hopefully you’ll hear from us next from somewhere that isn’t home.”

 

“I’m sorry, Ted.” James said. “We all have to give something.”

 

“I know, James.” Ted shook his head. “I just wish it wasn’t all of this.”

* * *

 

It felt strange to wander an unfamiliar house with nothing to do.

 

Lily was used to holding a laundry basket on her hip, or some sort of supplies for her potion mailing service. Not that it was up and running, anymore, considering she was in India. For now, she was simply attempting to grow familiar with her new surroundings.

 

Her children were doing the same, so it was no surprise to overhear Drew and Sarah speaking in soft voices, heads bent together. 

 

“Did he tell you where he was going?” Drew asked.

 

“You know Hari just as well as I do.” Sarah scowled. “He didn’t tell me anything of use.”

 

“I don’t get it… I thought he trusted us.” Drew pulled back slightly, staring down at his hands. “Why would he just run off?”

 

“Knowing him, he didn’t just run off -- Hermione and Ron were in on it too. They’ve been shifty since the beginning of summer, haven’t you noticed?” She asked, looking over at Drew with a hint of nervousness in her eyes. “I don’t like what he did. Let’s be clear about that. But it makes sense that he thought it was the only way. Amma and Appa would’ve had him under lock and key if he’d even mentioned that he was thinking about it.”

 

“But he had to!” Drew argued, before frowning. “Or… I guess he didn’t. He just feels like he has to.”

 

“Anyone could do it.” Sarah shrugged. “In fact, someone else might even do it better. But we have the unfortunate privilege of knowing who he is, so it makes sense to us a bit, I guess.”

 

“I just… want him to be safe.” Drew seemed to be fighting with himself over something, and Lily leaned against the doorway as he worked through it. “I know what he’s doing is important… but I don’t see why it has to be him that does it. Why couldn’t he just come with us?”

 

“You can’t make someone who doesn’t want to hide do it. Appa said that about Uncle Sirius, during the last war.” Sarah’s expression darkened at the mention of her uncle. “He didn’t want to be anywhere but on the front lines, no matter how much everyone told him he wouldn’t be safe there. They let the wrong person babysit Hari, looks like.”

 

“Do you think there’s any way of getting news about the war?” Drew asked, leaning back against the couch with a thoughtful look. “If we can keep track of what’s going on back in England, maybe we can figure out where Hari is and what he’s doing.”

 

“We’re cut off out here.” Sarah said. “Owls won’t work. The distance is too far and by the time we got the letters, they wouldn’t be accurate to what’s happening. If we had something instant, then that would make sense. Somebody on the inside.” Her voice lowered to a whisper, as if she was aware they were being listened in on. “I heard Appa talking to Uncle Ted, through the fireplace -- he and Aunt Andie are leaving too.”

 

“Shin-ji and her family went back to Korea, so they’ll be safe from the worst of it, hopefully.” Drew patted Sarah’s shoulder. “But… Ginny stayed. You think you can get in contact with her somehow? Use the fireplace like Appa did?”

 

“The fireplace won’t work if she’s at Hogwarts, and she’s bound to be by now.” Sarah sighed, looking rather despondent. “By the time you and Anju and Madhu came along, the Ministry had left Hogwarts well alone, but… if the Ministry has anything to do with the school again, which is what it sounds like from what Amma and Appa are saying when they think we aren’t listening, they’re watching all the fireplaces.” Instinctively, she covered the hand bearing the scars Umbridge had left behind with the other. “They’ll find us and if they find us, they find Amma. It’s not worth the risk.”

 

“Would they be able to come get her…? Even though we’re not in the country?” Drew looked around nervously, as though someone could be listening in on their conversation. 

 

“Who knows?” Sarah shook her head. “I’d rather not find out. I don’t think you want to either.”

 

“No, you’re right.” Drew rubbed a hand over his face, looking far older than twelve in that moment. He had always looked like his father, but something about the exhaustion settling into his features struck home. “It isn’t safe… Maybe a Muggle phone? I’m sure we could find one.”

 

“But she’d have to have a Muggle phone too.” Sarah frowned. “There may be something. With reaching Ginny. But it’s contingent on her finding it.”

 

“Finding what?”

 

“I asked Appa to make me a set of mirrors like he has for my last birthday, and he said he wouldn’t, but he did.” Sarah said. “On the morning of the wedding, I woke up a little early and put one of them into Ginny’s trunk. I’ve had the other in my backpack since. Appa said it would light up or vibrate or something if someone activated it, but I guess it’s a little too much to ask that she looks at the mirror and says my name, right? I should’ve left better instructions. I might have if we’d had more time, but… things are how they are, I guess.” 

 

“You’re supposed to be the smart one, you’d think you would’ve left a note.” Drew nudged her in the side, obviously teasing. “I’m sure Ginny will figure it out eventually… Does she have to say your name to activate it?”

 

“Yeah, but I guess I could activate it too. We’d have to time it right -- when Ginny would be in her dormitory for sure. We’d need to figure out the offset time wise, then maybe catch her right before dinner? We know when dinner is for them, that wouldn’t change…” Sarah frowned. “What do you think?”

 

Drew blinked at his sister, obviously surprised to be asked for his opinion. “Uh… Well, we could always do it in the middle of the night. We know everyone else in Ginny’s dormitory, and I don’t think they’d turn her in.” He offered after a moment of thought. 

 

Lily raised an eyebrow, not only at the two of them concocting a plan together, but because it seemed like they were on even ground. Sarah’s brain, combined with Drew’s knowledge of people… she had never thought about it before, but these two could make a devastating team. 

 

“Yeah, but the whole thing is weird for Ginny in particular, because of…” Sarah trailed off, thinking about the diary. No one had gotten around to explaining the whole situation to the triplets, and she didn’t know which bits and pieces they knew. Regardless, it was Ginny’s story to tell and not hers. “We’ve got to do it when she’s alone.”

 

He nodded, obviously taking what his sister had to say very seriously. “In that case, before a meal will be our best bet. We’re going to have to be careful about the time difference, though.”

 

“It’s four hours and thirty minutes ahead of England, here, so if dinner’s at six, then around one- thirty? Everyone would be asleep, so that’s a good call. Ignore the afternoon nap, maybe take the mirror out back…” Sarah mused aloud, a smile on her face. “Yeah. We could make that work. Do you want to run interference?”

 

“Hell yeah!” Drew pumped his fist in the air, and Lily covered her mouth to hide her amusement. “I’ll be the best look out you’ve ever had.”

 

Lily quietly took that as her cue to leave before they noticed her. 

 

If they wanted it to be a secret, she could let them have that.

* * *

 

Sarah’s sea green flip flops slapped against the parched ground as she pulled the branch of a tree down toward her to inspect the small green fruits it bore. 

 

“I don’t know what this is.” She looked back over her shoulder at Lily before letting go of the branch, startling when it sprang back up to its original position. “Well, that one’s healthy at least.”

 

Lily squinted at the tree trunk, running a fingernail gently down the bark before sighing. “No clue. I’ve never seen something like this, muggle or otherwise.” She smiled down at her daughter. “Think we could find a book about the local fauna in town?”

 

“We could. It’s not likely to be in English.” Sarah shrugged. “Maybe we could look. Bookstores might be nice. Appa says there’s one at the train station, but I don’t want to go anywhere near a train station.” She scrunched up her nose in disgust. “Too many people.”

 

“People suck.” Lily agreed easily. “Maybe we can find one tucked away somewhere for you to hang out? Even if I can’t read them, you could.”

 

“I could.” Sarah nodded, ducking to avoid another branch before approaching the next tree. “Maybe one that isn’t in English wouldn’t be so bad. We could work together. There’s nothing special about this tree. This one’s just mangoes.”

 

“Everything about mangoes is special.” Lily decided, looking up to check if they were anywhere near ripe. “Haven’t we ever given you a real one? Not from the supermarket, but actually grown where they’re meant to be?”

 

“Appa only gets fruit from the side of the road.” Sarah sighed. “He says the dirt makes it authentic. It’s not like he washes the fruit either.”

 

“He’s right.” Lily nudged her daughter with her elbow. 

 

“You two deserve each other.” Sarah grimaced. “Maybe we should ask him how to make sure they’re ready? We can get some?”

 

“Oh, it’s pretty simple! You’ve got to look for the right color, and if it’s just a bit tender when you squeeze it, that means it’s ready.” Lily told her, reaching up to turn one of the mangoes to the side. She was too short to grab most of them, but some of the lower hanging fruits were within reach.

 

“You can’t get at those?” Sarah teased. “Come on, Amma, at least try.”

 

Lily turned to look at her daughter, a comment about how she couldn’t reach them either on the tip of her tongue. Except Sarah, at some point, seemed to have gained the few extra inches she needed in order to outgrow her mother, leaving Anne as the only Potter shorter than Lily. “Then you grab them for me, honey.” She said, gently slapping at Sarah’s shoulder. 

 

“I could.” Sarah smiled, looking even more like her father. “But it wouldn’t be as funny as watching you try.”

 

“You’re grounded.” She grumbled, propping her hands on her hips. “How did you all get your father’s height? This is ridiculous.”

 

“Law of averages. I don’t know if that actually means what I think it does, but it sounds important.” Sarah shrugged. “Either way, it’s okay. Anju’s going to be shorter than you at least through the week. I just-- I have a question, actually, and I don’t know how you’re going to take this, but I think I need to say it to somebody.”

 

“What’s up?” Lily turned away from the tree to give her daughter her full attention. 

 

“Before he left… I gave Hari the Cloak. He has it.” Sarah admitted. “I couldn’t tell Appa. I figured if you knew… maybe you could help. He would’ve thought I was helping him or something but… you know me better, I guess. Or at least you used to. Maybe. I don’t know.” She covered her eyes with a hand. “I’m never talking again. This is too much.”

 

Lily’s expression softened as she reached out to place a hand on Sarah’s shoulder. “I understand. You wanted to keep him safe, because you knew no matter what you did it wasn’t going to change his mind.” She said gently. “Is that it?”

 

“Yeah. That’s-- That’s it.” Sarah nodded, not shrugging off Lily’s hand as she might have even a few weeks earlier. “It would be more use to him than me, no matter where we were. I wasn’t… I wasn’t using it for good reasons when I had it, so I thought I should get rid of it. A fresh start, kind of. Give someone else a turn.”

 

For a moment, she could vividly see Sarah as a pudgy three year old, vehemently refusing to share her perfectly organized dollhouse with Harry. He’d thrown a brief tantrum in response, yelling about how she didn’t love him enough to share while rolling about on the floor, but she had been resolute in playing by herself. It was a stark contrast to the young woman she was growing up to be. 

 

“Honey, he really was going to do it no matter what. He’s too stubborn for his own good. Got that from me, at least.”

 

“I kind of feel like I helped him leave and the triplets keep asking me about it like I have answers.” Sarah admitted. “I don’t know. I guess, functionally, I am the oldest for now. I don’t like it. He’s better at it than I am.”

 

“You’re never going to be the oldest.” She reassured her daughter, praying that she was right. “Even if Hari ran off, he’ll be back soon enough.”

 

“Nothing could actually get him.” Sarah laughed, though it was nervous and hesitant. “I mean, what is this, round number four? Round five?”

 

“I lost count years ago.” She sighed, remembering a tiny boy in the hospital wing, dwarfed by the bed he had been tucked into. “But he always comes back swinging, doesn’t he?”

 

“He does.” Sarah said. “I guess we all got lucky. We had the right role models.” She cast a hesitant smile at Lily. “You and Appa gave us the tools we needed when it counted.”

 

Lily felt the telltale pricking sensation at the back of her eyes, and she offered a watery smile. “I’m going to hug you now.” She informed her daughter, already moving to gather her up in her arms.

 

“Okay. I mean, if you want to.” Sarah awkwardly patted her mother’s back, determinedly looking anywhere but at Lily. “What’s this about?”

 

“You’re so grown up now, and you shouldn’t have to be.” She pulled back, reaching up to smooth her hair away from her face. “I’m always going to be here for you, honey.”

 

“I mean, I’m thirteen now.” Sarah said, as if that made her an adult. “I should be grown up about at least some things.”

 

“Of course.” Lily snorted, shaking her head. “But only some things, okay?”

 

“I’ll try.” Sarah promised. “It’s just-- I don’t know. It’s weird. I don’t know what to think about any of this.”

 

“There’s no right or wrong way to think about it. It’s… not a clear cut situation to be in.” Lily winced.

 

“Yeah. I guess so.” Sarah shrugged. 

 

“You can talk to me about it, if you want to.” She said softly.

 

“I don’t think so.” Sarah shook her head. “Not yet, I guess. There’s just-- There’s a lot to straighten out. I’d like to do it myself first. Before… Before I say anything to anybody else.”

 

“That’s totally fine.” Lily nodded. “Just… go to someone if you need help, okay? It doesn’t have to be me, but… you know.”

 

“Yeah. I know better now.” Sarah trailed off uncomfortably, squeezing one of the mangoes a little more viciously than she needed to. The skin split at her touch, spilling juice all over her hand. “Ugh. Great. Now my hands are sticky.”

 

Lily laughed, already turning back towards the house. “It’s getting dark anyways. Lets go inside and you can wash up, alright?”

 

“Yeah, that sounds good.” Sarah smiled. “Let’s go back inside. Everyone’s missing us probably, I think.”

 

“When don’t they?”

 

“That’s what our whole family’s about.” Sarah laughed. “Too many emotions all the time.”

 

“It’s part of the Potter heritage.” Lily said, swinging open the back screen door.

 

“I’ve seen you and Aunt Petunia, Amma.” Sarah raised an eyebrow. “Is it really just the Potter side?”

 

“Aunt Petunia counts as an extenuating circumstance.” Lily insisted, obviously amused.

 

“An extenuating circumstance? You punched her in the face before we left!” Sarah said, wide eyed. “That’s not an extenuating circumstance, that’s making trouble for yourself.”

 

“We were fleeing the country, what did I have to lose?” Lily laughed. “... Not that you should be punching people, obviously.”

 

“I’d rather not." Sarah rolled her eyes. “Setting a wonderful example, Amma. I’m excited to learn more from you.” 

 

“I’m your mother.” She laughed. “Do what I say, not what I do.”

 

“And you just said that you’re within your rights to punch someone so long as you have nothing to lose.” Sarah smirked. “I don’t think you want me to learn that, right?”

 

The crooked curve of her smile was striking- not only in the mischievous way it lit up her face, but in her sudden resemblance to her father. As he grew older, people constantly commented on Harry’s face, on how closely he was following in James’ footsteps. But so few of them ever saw the way her other children resembled him. 

 

“I’ve got plenty to lose, though.” She said, looking somber, the little flash of impish glee that had made her look, for a second, like the child she was fading away in an instant. “So you don’t have to worry about me punching anyone anyway.”

 

“Well, if you really feel it’s necessary, I won’t actually stop you.” Lily said.

 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Sarah nodded. “There’s not too many people I’d want to punch anyhow. It’s not worth the trouble. They’ll think our disagreement’s over with now that I’ve punched them. Holding a grudge works much better.”

 

“What grudge?” Matt’s tiny voice drew their attention to the corner, where he was poking his head in from the hallway. 

 

“Not against you, so you don’t need to worry about it.” Sarah said fondly, and would’ve carded a hand through his hair like she often did if she hadn’t realized, hand halfway to his head, that her hands were covered in mango juice. She patted his shoulder stiffly instead, as if she was still trying to figure out the strange science of affection, leaving a wet orange stain on his shoulder. “We’re just talking about how Amma punched Aunt Petunia.”

 

Matt wrinkled his nose at the stain she had left behind on his shirt. He had never been a fan of anything sticky or damp, and Lily had a feeling he’d scamper off to his room soon to change. “I think Anju might have learned too much from watching that.” He admitted, reaching out to give Sarah’s sleeve an affectionate tug before turning to run off down the hall. 

 

“I liked this.” Sarah confided, once Matt had turned the corner. She hesitantly met Lily’s eyes, toes tapping on the tile floor. “Us spending time together. It feels like we haven’t… we haven’t done that in a long time.”

 

Lily let her face soften at the admission, reaching forward to plant a kiss on Sarah’s forehead. “You’re right. We should fix that, shouldn’t we?” She hummed. 

 

“It was nice.” Sarah said, distinctly awkward. “We should do it again.”

 

“Whenever you want, honey.” Lily smiled fondly. “Whenever you want.”

* * *

 

The air around the house didn’t start cooling down until well into the afternoon. Evenings, however, usually introduced a breeze cool enough to make sitting outside bearable. There was a rickety old bench swing on the porch that Anne had taken to sitting on when everyone was done cleaning up after dinner. 

 

They didn’t have neighbors, out here, but that wasn’t too different from their old house. James’ aunt came to visit often enough that it wasn’t lonely, but she couldn’t help but miss home. 

 

She couldn’t help but miss Harry. 

 

The screen door creaked open, and Anne recognized the heavy footsteps before James sat down beside her. Her toes scraped gently against the porch floor, rocking the two of them back and forth in the quiet night. 

 

“Hey.” He said, looking her over with a concerned expression that hadn’t let up once since last summer. It was something that grated on her nerves, but only enough for her to realize she didn’t have the energy to stop him. “Tired of your siblings already?” The joke fell flat, but his intentions in telling it were clear to Anne, as always. Of her siblings, she’d always understood her father best.

 

She shrugged, leaning her head against her father’s arm. “Just wanted some quiet.” She mumbled. It wasn’t an uncommon thing for her to say, these days. She was leaps and bounds better than when they had first disposed of the horcrux she’d toted around for a year. But she was a quieter person afterwards, less prone to outbursts and in need of more solitude. “It’s nice out here.”

 

“It’s the same as it was twenty years ago, and even before that.” James said. “This swing’s been out here since before I was born, if you’ll believe it.”

 

“That’s an old swing.” She snorted, leaning further into him with the remark. “Surprised it hasn’t fallen out from under us.”

 

“Yeah, well, sometimes older is better.” James teased. “Look at me. I’m pretty great.”

 

Anne groaned, pulling away from her father, despite keeping her grip on his arm. “You’re terrible.” She rolled her eyes. “Terrible and ancient.”

 

“Ancient? That’s harsh.” James grimaced. “I’m only thirty-six, come on. Your mother’s older than that! Go after her!”

 

“I know, I know. You had Hari Anna when you were like, fifteen or something.” She sighed. “So you’re the ‘hip, young parents’.” 

 

“Fifteen is illegal, Anju. Or I think it is? It would’ve been illegal to my parents, anyhow.” James laughed. “They were terribly disappointed about twenty, as it stood. Besides, does anyone actually say hip anymore?”

 

“We definitely do. I’m a kid, so you can trust me.” She turned to look back out on the yard, the dried out grass dyed blue by the waning light. “... Do you think we’ll get to go home?” 

 

“I think right now is about counting our blessings and not thinking too far ahead.” James said, careful to avoid giving a real answer. “We have a place to say. Most of us are safe and together. It’s a lot more than many of us had, during the last war.”

 

Anne leveled him with a look that was somewhere between Lily’s stern scowl and her own annoyed pout. It was almost alarming to see something like that on her face when she was so young. “I wasn’t alive during the last war, Appa. This is the only war I’ve had to deal with.” There was a pause before she said ‘war’, as though she was hesitant to give it such a concrete label. “So… I dunno. That seems like a cop-out. No offense.”

 

“It is.” James said, looking all too serious. “Welcome to war. Everything’s a cop-out in disguise.”

 

“That sucks.” She ran a hand through her loose hair, shoving it out of her face in a way that, strangely, made her look like Harry. “Nothing I can do, though, right?”

 

“There’s nothing any of us can do.” James confirmed. “Just gotta wait it out.” He rolled his shoulders, letting out a deep sigh. “If we’re lucky, we never see the war in action.”

 

“This is your second time around.” She said, frowning down at her lap. “Any advice?”

 

“Trust the people you love.” James placed a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t be afraid to talk about what you’re feeling. This is a tough situation and it works all of us over in weird ways. And, lastly and most importantly, no kids.” He smiled, kissing the top of her head. “If I have to die to make sure you kids get out unscathed, I’ll do it. Hopefully it doesn’t come to that.”

 

“I’m twelve.” She snorted. “I’m not having kids anytime soon.” 

 

“It bears repeating.” James snorted. “You know how many times my parents said ‘leave the marriage for later, there’ll be time after this all ends’? I’ve counted it in letters since. Eighty-nine.” He laughed, shaking his head, though he looked unusually solemn. Anne remembered, with a start, that her father had never seen his parents alive again after running away to fight. “When you’re old enough to fight a war, you think you know everything. Not true at all.”

 

“Well you and Amma have reminded me that I’m not old enough to fight a war yet, either.” She pointed out, leaning back and causing the swing to creak. “Who would I even marry? Drew’s still set on Shin-ji, obviously, but I don’t have any friends I’m not related to.”

 

“Ah, maybe don’t get thinking on that topic.” James nudged her with his elbow. “That’s how I ended up here. Though it isn’t so bad, really.”

 

“Haven’t divorced yet.” She nodded sagely. “But still. I don’t really know what to do these days.”

 

“Take advantage of the quiet, I guess.” James shrugged. “When this happened-- When the last war was on, your mother and I spent a lot of time playing card games.” He smiled. “When Harry came along, all he wanted to do was put them in his mouth, and we hadn’t realized babyproofing meant waterproofing everything you own. We lost all our playing cards to him teething.”

 

“That was when you were in Godric’s Hollow, right?” She looked up at her father, peering through her overgrown bangs. “Cause you couldn’t leave the house.”

 

“Not really. I mean, we had the Cloak, so one of us could leave if we really wanted to risk it. I know just having it, even if we didn’t use it, it made it easier for your mother, sometimes. Just being able to walk the streets. Be somebody else for a while.” James said. “Being newly married during a war isn’t cute. When there’s a baby involved, it’s even less so. We had no choice but to be around each other and him all day long, every single day, and that gets hard. But we did a good job with what we had. The best we could’ve done, given everything.”

 

Anne’s face scrunched up in distaste at the idea. “Yeah, I can see that being stressful. Especially if the baby is Hari Anna.”

 

“Oh yeah. He was the toughest of all of you, and that’s counting when we had three of you at once.”

 

“To be fair, he’s as much of a baby now as he was then, I imagine.” She paused. “I guess he’s been acting more grown up lately…”

 

“Are you okay with… you know, him being gone?” James asked carefully. “I’m not trying to make you answer one way or another, but… if you’ve got something you want to say, I’d like to hear it.”

 

“I’m worried, I guess.” She decided. “I… I just wish he wasn’t always trying to be a martyr. Why does he feel like it’s got to be him that fixes everything?”

 

“You’ll think this is funny, but as much as your mother tries to call that my fault… he takes after her in that regard. Your mother might not look it on the surface, but if there’s a fight to be had, she wants to be on the front lines.” James said fondly, though it was undercut with a tinge of sadness. “She’s not about to sit by while injustice happens around her. Sirius was the same way. Remus and I couldn’t have done anything to stop Harry from going down that same path.”

 

“We could’ve handcuffed him to something.” Anne suggested, though the joke fell flat. As young as she was, she sounded ancient and tired, like the weight of a thousand years of suffering rested on her shoulders. 

 

“Smart, but Alohomora is one of the five spells he knows.” James teased. “Wouldn’t have kept him from getting out.”

 

“Darn.” She leaned back again, staring up at the sky, idly noticing that the stars were starting to shine. “... Did you know he was going to run?” 

 

“No.” James said, with all the confidence he could muster. He’d always tried not to lie to his children, being of the mind that if they were ready to ask a question, they were ready to handle the consequences, but he knew better than to tell the truth now. This was something he had to carry alone. “He never said anything about it. I was looking for him up until the end. I promise.” He stared intently at the floor, tracing the seams in the concrete with his toes. “I’d be a terrible dad if I knew he was going and did nothing.”

 

Anne stared up at him, her face strangely blank for a long moment. Finally, she glanced away. “Nah.” She said flippantly. “Like you said. None of us could have stopped him, even if we had known.”

 

“He’s a headstrong boy.” James nodded. “When he comes home, he’s grounded forever.”

 

“Think that’ll stop him from running off again?”

 

“Maybe.” James said. “We might get lucky.”

 

“Hopefully,” Anne frowned, patting her father’s hand, “once this is all over he won’t wanna leave home for a long time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sriram no longer uses tumblr for personal reasons, so if you have any questions you want directly answered and don't want to comment, you can shoot me a message at Yamibakuraofficial on tumblr!
> 
> -Elai


	9. My Friends Almost Got Murdered And All I Got Was A Danish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roughly fifteen to twenty danishes save the day, Padfoot sends some encouragement from the Great Beyond, and parenting is even tougher than usual, but as they always do, the Potter Family and their Treasured Business Associates fight on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you're wondering about the jokes about danishes, but this particular scene has been _months_ in the making. I'm not kidding. We've been joking about this scene since August. Do you know how long ago August was? 
> 
> We don't because time doesn't feel real anymore!
> 
> We're kidding. Enjoy the danishes, though.
> 
> The end of this chapter gets to a place we've been wanting to explore for a while -- James and Lily have spoken about the First War every so often to the reader, and sometimes to Harry, but never to the younger kids, and as we all know, there's very little to do while on shitty vacations than spend time with your family. We'll be seeing increased emotional vulnerability (age appropriate and tastefully delivered, of course -- they're very aware of the fact that they're dealing with 12-13 year olds) from here on out, which is pretty neat.
> 
> Thanks for joining us for yet another Wednesday full of surprises, and we can't wait to meet you back here in two weeks (on Tuesday the 27th) with Accidental Legilimency For Dummies, Ginny Weasley holding down the fort at Hogwarts, and Homeschooling Gone Wild. We've got some action packed fun ahead, and don't worry, nobody dies... yet. 
> 
> Take care, let us know how much you liked the chapter, and we'll see you next week!
> 
> -S&E

“So our plan is just to walk up and down this street until we agree on a place to eat?” Harry asked. It had taken them half an hour to pack up the tent and, upon being told that they couldn’t use Disillusionment Charms if they were planning to “legally visit a business establishment”, Harry had lost much of his enthusiasm for this particular trip. But if there was one thing in the world other than his family that could motivate Harry Potter, it was food. “We’re gonna be walking forever. I’m just gonna drop dead in the road because neither of you can agree on anything. I deserve better.”

“Listen, I don’t really want to go to any of these places.” Ron’s uneasy look had persisted past the promise of food, which was usually the point where he was willing to sell his own soul. “I have a bad feeling about this, guys.”

“We don’t have to.” Hermione, who’d suggested it to begin with, said, in the face of growing dissension. “I thought it might be nice. Being anonymous for a little while. A break.” She looked over her shoulder for the seventh time in the past minute. “But if Ron has a bad feeling…”

“It might be good for us all.” Harry said. “But either way, we can’t be standing out here for too long, bad feeling or not. As Muggle as any place is, the people who want our heads are not.” He cast a glance around the somewhat crowded street, thankful that no familiar faces stood out to him immediately. “Come on. If you two can’t pick, I will.” He walked up to the nearest store, pushing open the door before waving Ron and Hermione in.

It was a small cafe- more cozy than cramped, with mismatched couches and overstuffed chairs. There was a fireplace crackling against one of the walls, surrounded by piles of books either on tables or small shelves. The counter against the far wall was manned by a bored-looking teenager, leaning on her hand and flipping through a magazine. Barely anyone was inside, and the muggles that were seemed more interested in their own food than them. 

“Nice place.” Harry said, looking around the room. “So, what do we want?”

“Anything that doesn’t come from a can.” Ron groaned, his worry seemingly overwhelmed at the sight of pastries sitting inside the glass case. “A sandwich. Two sandwiches. And a shitton of danishes.”

“How many is a shitton?” Harry teased. “Four? Five? Twenty?”

“Don’t be silly, Harry. Twenty danishes is just unreasonable.” Hermione laughed.

“You’ve seen him at school!” Harry said. “Where are you getting unreasonable from?”

“I have six siblings! You learn to grab food when you can.” Ron said. “I want every danish they have.”

“We’ll do what we can, mate.” Harry nodded. “Any requests, Hermione?”

“I’ll second Ron on anything that hasn’t been in a can.” Hermione said. “No offense, Harry, but even you can’t fix some of the things we’ve been eating.”

“I’ve been doing my best.” Harry feigned hurt. “Are you insulting my cooking, Hermione?”

“You complain that we can’t pick a place, but you’re the one who’s keeping us from ordering.” Ron rolled his eyes. 

“Fine. Hermione, you do the money, you’re best at it anyway.” Hermione stepped up to the counter with an apologetic smile to the girl behind the counter, looking back at Harry and Ron every few seconds as she inquired after what was available and whether it was financially responsible to actually get all the danishes they had.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry noticed something curious -- the Muggles all seemed to be looking outside, finishing their business quickly and leaving their tables one by one. The ringing of the bells tied to the door seemed almost constant now, the Muggles all departing one by one. He spotted a young man who had been scribbling away in a leatherbound notebook, loudly telling everyone that he was hard at work on a novel and would be here for hours, slogging away at his writing to perfect his craft push past everyone to leave first, pulling the collar of his light jacket up past his chin. 

“Is it just me or is everyone leaving?” Harry whispered to Ron, reaching into the pocket of his dirt smudged jeans to check that his wand was exactly where he’d stowed it when they broke camp. “All at once too. It’s too orderly. Something’s not right.”

Ron glanced over his shoulder, attempting to appear nonchalant as he watched the muggled file out. “Told you I had a bad feeling.” He mumbled. 

“We’ve stayed too long. We’ve stayed too long.” Harry shook his head, looking back over at Hermione, who was still chatting up the girl at the counter. “How long does it take to acquire a large number of danishes?”

Ron stepped forward, gently tugging at her elbow. “Hermione, we need to leave.” He whispered.

“We need to--” Hermione looked around the cafe and saw how empty it had become through new eyes. “We do. Right now.” 

“Where do we meet?” Harry asked. “When we get out of here?”

“Your family still owns Grimmauld Place, right?” Ron asked. 

“Yeah.” Harry nodded. “We’ll meet there, okay? All three of us. Right outside?”

Two older men who were obviously not the intended customer base burst through the door of the cafe, wands out and raring for a fight. 

It was easy to recognize the first man -- Hermione had seen that strange, devilish combination of sallow skin, repeatedly broken nose and cutting eyes on Platform 9 ¾ before. Theodore Nott Senior grinned, yellowing teeth bared, casually pulling up the hem of his sweater to reveal the handle of his wand sticking out of his pockets. She had often wondered how such a man could’ve raised the Theodore she knew, starstruck by even the most ordinary of things, and now, there was no time for wondering.

His friend, or at least she hoped they were friends, because Death Eaters seemed to have little in the way of healthy interpersonal relationships, was a bulky blond man, casting half-crazed glances around the store. He tried to smile at a child and the child shrieked, hurling herself into her mother’s arms. As her mother carried the child out the door, relaxing once they was clear of the door, the blond man swung his wand in an arc toward the windows that lined the front of the shop and the glass shattered, flying out toward the Muggles running from the store.

“Now that that infernal screeching’s settled.” He smiled. “Let’s take care of the real problem here, right, Theo?”

“Might as well.” Theodore Nott Senior said, eyeing Harry with a particular form of disdain he knew well. “We’ll be his right hand men, if we bring back such a prize.” He licked his lips. “Well, Potter? Coming quietly?”

“Not a chance in hell.” Harry spat, pulling his wand out. “Over my dead fucking body.”

The teenager behind the counter screamed and dove to the floor as the fighting began in earnest, ribbons of colored light smashing tables, light fixtures and walls to bits like it was child’s play. Ron ducked down behind a large armchair, blasting hexes without really taking the time to aim. 

“Get out!” Harry yelled in the direction of the counter, casting a curse that wrapped up one of the intruders in ropes. It hardly distracted him for a second, as he cut through the ropes with a swift slash of his wand and aimed another curse at Harry, who tumbled out of the way, thankful he’d listened during the one and a half gymnastics classes he’d gone to as a child before telling the teachers he’d had enough, thank you, and wouldn’t be coming back again.

“Goin’ out!” Ron shouted, blasting a spell at the front window that he followed shortly after. His head popped back up just long enough for him to cast a Bat Bogey Hex at the nearest Death Eater. 

“Not you! The girl behind the counter! But you too!” Harry yelled, catching Nott with a particularly good Bat Bogey Hex. Ginny would be proud. He’d have to tell her when he saw her next. “Everybody get OUT!”

“Get out, he says.” Theodore Nott Senior howled with laughter, panting for breath in between guffaws. “You won’t leave here alive, Potter. Not if I’ve got anything to say about it!”

“Watch me!” Harry hissed, disarming the large blond man.

“Damn it, Rowle!” Nott growled. “Losing to a child? A half-blood? Especially one like him!” Nott’s smirk twisted into something ugly and Harry didn’t need to wait around to know which incantation Nott was going to try next. He’d escaped the Killing Curse as an infant, thanks to his mother’s quick thinking and his father’s skill -- he wasn’t going to try his chances with surviving it.

“Go, go, go!” Harry made for the nearest exit, a Death Eater close on his heels, and disapparated the second he was clear of the door, the street outside Grimmauld Place clear in his mind. 

He reappeared with a pop right outside Number 11, Grimmauld Place, just as he’d intended, looking around frantically for Ron and Hermione. They’d been here before -- they knew where to go. But even then, every second without either of them appearing by his side had Harry’s breaths coming faster and faster, growing ragged and unsteady. 

Where were they? 

He’d seen them both disappear, hadn’t he?

Ron suddenly tumbled out of mid-air with a large CRACK. He shoved himself to his feet, doing a quick turnaround and grabbing Harry’s arm. “Hermione? Where’s Hermione?” He asked, still scanning the street. “Shit, I should have made sure she got out already!” 

Hermione popped into existence a few feet away, looking terrified. Ron ducked over to her, quickly checking for any visible injuries. “Are we good? Is everyone okay?” He asked, turning to look at Harry as he planted his hands on Hermione’s shoulders. 

“Everyone’s okay. Everyone’s okay.” Harry said, catching his breath. “We’re all okay. All right, Number Twelve. Make it happen.”

Life continued as per usual in Numbers Eleven and Thirteen and all the houses on either side as they shifted to make room for Number Twelve, which looked every bit as well kept but forbidding as Harry remembered. 

“I guess we’ve got to go in.” He said, looking around. Not a soul was around and that was for the better. “Before someone finds us.”

“I guess.” Ron grimaced up at the large house- just as large as the Burrow, but so much less inviting. “No one can track us to here or get in, right?”

“It’s got the secret keeping stuff on it.” Harry said, climbing up the stairs. “I don’t remember who it was, but so long as it wasn’t Snape… that’s good enough.”

“The Order isn’t using it anymore?” Ron asked, casting a glance down the street.

“Can’t imagine why they would. And if they are, well, that’s good for us, isn’t it?”

The door unlocked before them, but as the trio tumbled through and into the front hall, all the dust that had accumulated across the hall suddenly began to shiver. It seemed to condense, drifting into a column that stood before them- a ghostly apparition of Dumbledore, shambling toward them. A wheezing groan, high and reedy, keened from it’s mouth as it reached for them, dust swirling and stinging at their eyes. 

“I didn’t kill you!” Harry shouted, remembering the strange enchantment that his father had told him of over the summer. 

“Well, now that that’s over, I guess we go in.”

Harry hadn’t thought about Grimmauld Place all too much in the time since Sirius’ death, but returning to it now, without the knowledge that he might be lurking around the next corner, ready to jump out at Harry with a winning smile on his face, felt odd. The house felt like a mausoleum, a monument to times gone by, each strange painting and mounted house elf head removing it further and further from the reality of the world outside. It felt like the Blacks had built a shrine to the times before anyone bothered holding them accountable and surrounded themselves with evidence of nothing but that.

“I guess we… make ourselves at home.” Harry said, though he felt anything but. “Put our bags down and have a rest. This is the safest we’ll be for a while.”

“I grabbed a couple danishes.” Hermione dug around in her backpack, retrieving a white paper bag, heavy with pastries. “I was behind the counter and someone blasted the case open, so I thought why not, right?”

Ron stared at her blankly for a long moment before letting out an almost hysterical laugh. “Of course you grabbed the danishes.” He ran a hand over his face before reaching out to hug her. “This is insane.”

“Our lives are more than a little insane right now.” Hermione shrugged. “We might as well enjoy what we have.”

“What flavors did you get?” Harry asked.

“Whatever flavors were there.” Hermione replied. “Eat what you get before Ron gets them.”

“Fine.” Harry said gloomily, picking up an apple danish. “I don’t even like apples.”

“Then you don’t need one.” Hermione snatched it out of his hand with a smile. “The seeker reflexes are really gone, huh?”

“Oh, is this a game?” Harry teased. “Oh, you don’t stand a chance, Hermione Granger.” He laughed. “I’ll destroy you!”

Ron smiled softly as his friends bickered over danishes, letting the tight bundle of nerves that had been occupying his chest for the past year unwind slightly.

* * *

Harry hadn’t visited Grimmauld Place too often since Sirius’ death -- especially after the revelation about the locket, the Potters had kept their distance, especially from Sirius’ old room. So it was hard not to go exploring, trace the length of walls with his hands, which looked bigger, to him, than they had months before. He felt taller, like he’d grown since July, and he probably had -- his shoes were feeling tighter, and luckily he had Hermione to charm them bigger every so often. Ron had tried to learn, but had made his jacket the size of a tent on the first try, and they’d spent so much time laughing that it’d been time for dinner by the time they were done. The tent jacket was still lying on the kitchen table -- they’d begun using it as a tablecloth for the sheer absurdity of it rather than trying to shrink it back.

This house could never feel like home, would never feel like home, not after all the history his own family had with this house. They hadn’t been related to the Blacks by more than marriage -- Harry’s greatuncle, his grandfather’s brother, had married into the family of his own free will, if Harry’s father was to be believed -- but they’d suffered for it and because of it. The Blacks hadn’t been thrilled when Harry’s grandfather proved to be as radical as his own father and had closed ranks around them, leaving Harry’s grandfather on the outside, the easy butt of a joke. From what his father had told him, his grandfather hadn’t taken it terribly hard, but everyone else tried their level best to get him to.

He happened upon the door to the room Sirius had lived in as a child, pushing the cracked open door all the way open to reveal his godfather’s childhood sanctuary. He’d been in here before, Sirius covering his eyes so that he wouldn’t see the clumsily taped up posters of Muggle models in what could only be described as compromising positions, and getting what he needed to do done in as expedient a manner as possible, but it felt strange to be here without him. It felt strange to stand in his old room, knowing he wouldn’t ever tell Harry not to mess with his things again, that he’d never have occasion or time to complain about how so many nieces and nephews meant that every new thing he got himself would go to ruin in a matter of seconds after purchasing it.

Harry spotted a particularly gaudy looking motorcycle shaped paper weight, old, cracked parchment beneath it, and looked over his shoulder before tiptoeing over to Sirius’ desk, still caught in this strange feeling that he needed to be quiet, that he needed to avoid getting caught, despite the fact that Sirius was not and would never come back to this room. That realization stopped him in his tracks for a second as he clutched his chest, squeezing his eyes shut, before marching on forward. If this room was just as Sirius had left it, the day he’d died, Harry wanted to see it.

It was a letter. The neatly folded length of parchment was a letter. He knew that handwriting. He knew that neatly curved D, the funny little flicks on the end of the comma.

This was his mother’s handwriting.

Dear Padfoot,

Thank you, thank you, for Harry’s birthday present! It was his favourite by far. One year old and already zooming along on a toy broomstick, he looked so pleased with himself, I’m enclosing a picture so you can see. You know it only rises about two feet off the ground, but he nearly killed the cat and he smashed a horrible vase Petunia sent me for Christmas (no complaints there). Of course, James thought it was so funny, says he’s going to be a great Quidditch player, but we’ve had to pack away all the ornaments and make sure we don’t take our eyes off him when he gets going.

We had a very quiet birthday tea, just us and old Bathilda, who has always been sweet to us and who dotes on Harry. We were so sorry you couldn’t come, but the Order’s got to come first and Harry’s not old enough to know it’s his birthday any- way! James is getting a bit frustrated shut up here, he tries not to show it but I can tell – also, Dumbledore’s still got his Invisibility Cloak, so no chance of little excursions. If you could visit, it would cheer him up so much. Wormy was here last weekend, I thought he seemed down, but that was probably the news about the McKinnons; I cried all evening when I heard.

Bathilda drops in most days, she’s a fascinating old thing with the most amazing stories about Dumbledore, I’m not sure he’d be pleased if he knew! I don’t know how much to believe, actually, because it seems incredible that Dumbledore...

Harry laughed mostly to keep from crying -- he could hear his mother’s voice in his head, the deliberate way she would’ve said each word, could see the way she would’ve tapped the tip of her quill against her chin while she waited for the perfect turn of phrase to come to her. It was as if Lily Evans had found her son, in the midst of all this tragedy, just to remind him that there might be something better around the corner.

There was a gentle knock from behind him and Harry turned to see Ron leaning against the doorframe. His expression was soft but concerned. “You doing alright?” He asked, glancing briefly around the cluttered room. When they had been cleaning up the manor for the Order to use, the entire hall had been more or less off limits to everyone. The Potter kids had acted as if they didn’t know what was behind this particular door, having been bribed with the promise of more sweets than they could fit in their pockets. 

Drew, in his infinite wisdom, had worn cargo shorts.

“Yeah.” Harry said, though it sounded hollow even to himself. “Found a letter Mum wrote during the war. Some of it’s missing, looks like.” He held the page out to Ron, hoping that it might provide Ron a shred of the comfort it had to him. “Feels kind of like she’s here, you know?” 

As he handed the letter over, he found a torn half of a photograph still in his hand, part of what he’d thought had been the back of the page -- in it, Harry was hovering inches off the ground on a toy broomstick, zooming in and out of frame, while his father, looking much like Harry had in his last glance into a mirror, laughed and laughed and laughed. He stared at it expectantly, waiting to see his mother’s face, but nothing of her appeared but finger tips at the torn edge of the photograph, floating in mid air like ghosts.

Ron, when Harry looked up, was frowning at the letter. “Bathilda…” He mumbled, scratching at his chin. “That name sounds familiar.”

“Bathilda…” Harry frowned. “Hold on, didn’t she write a textbook? We know who’d know about textbooks! Hermione!” He raced out the door, yelling down the stairs, ignoring how the painting of Walburga Black immediately began screeching. “Hermione! We need book help!”

“You’re our only hope! No one else here reads!” Ron laughed wildly as he chased after Harry, letter held high above his head.

“Hermione!” Harry whined. “Come read this for us!”

“What is it?” Hermione asked, looking up from a book she was engrossed in. “Oh, god, you need me to read something.”

“You’re reading right now!” Harry protested. “Read this instead! It’s history!”

“What kind of history?”

“Positively ancient.” Harry said. “It’s a letter from my mum. During the last war.”

“She mentions this lady named Bathilda, and I’m sure I recognize that name from somewhere.” Ron said, holding the letter out towards his girlfriend.

“Bathilda… Bathilda Bagshot?” Hermione gasped. “Harry, she wrote Hogwarts, A History! And so many of our History of Magic textbooks.”

“Great.” Harry said mournfully, all of the stories about his childhood mischief seeming even more embarrassing in retrospect. “I probably pissed in her shoes or something. Would explain my grades.”

“She definitely cursed you.” Ron snorted, shoving at Harry’s shoulder.

“How-- how old is she? Would she still be around?”

“She was older than Dumbledore. I doubt it.” Hermione winced. “She was from Godric’s Hollow as well -- Grindelwald, when he came to visit Dumbledore, he stayed with her.”

“Godric’s Hollow.” Harry repeated. 

His family didn’t talk much about the cottage from which Harry and his parents had narrowly escaped and he suspected that, even if he were to ask his parents after all of this was over, they would have very little to say. He knew they owned it still, and that his father had paid dearly to repair it and secure it against people who might have gotten a little too curious after they’d moved into his grandparents’ house, but knew precious little else. He knew there was a window box facing the street that his father had grown basil plants in, so many that his mother had burst into tears one evening asking what they were going to do with so much basil. He knew his parents’ bedroom window had faced the rising sun, waking them up at odd hours. He knew bits and pieces of memories he’d witnessed, that he’d played a part in, but nothing about that house felt real to him in the way his childhood home had. 

A home he might never get to return to again. 

Something went tight and concrete thick in his chest and he coughed awkwardly, feeling sick to his stomach. 

“Harry?” Ron frowned at his friend, who must have had a very curious expression on his face.

“There might be something there.” Harry said, looking between his friends nervously. “It feels like-- It feels like we’re supposed to go there. Like it’s important. I mean, think about it. I was born there. Dumbledore was from there. Grindelwald stayed there. History keeps happening in Godric’s Hollow. Tom would’ve tried to hide something there, no doubt about it.”

“The diary, the ring, the locket… he’s been going for things that are significant to someone. Stands to reason that there might be something in Godric’s Hollow he’d have liked to get his hands on.” Hermione mused. “But there’s one problem -- everyone always said he was afraid of Dumbledore. Why would he try to make a Horcrux in Dumbledore’s hometown?”

“Think about it. I’ll take a go at the devil’s advocate side. ” Harry said, feeling rather uncomfortable about what he was about to say. “If I were-- If I were Tom, I’d want to send a message. If I were Tom, and I thought Dumbledore was even suspecting Horcruxes, I’d want him to think… I’d want to show him how far ahead of him I was. And what’s better than making a Horcrux out of something Dumbledore might have liked or thought was important? What’s better than just… walking into his house and ruining something important?”

“Except Dumbledore likely didn’t leave anything behind.” Ron pointed out with a frown. “According to the biography Skeeter wrote, he lived there with his siblings for awhile, but they had moved on long before Tom came to power.” 

“Then what?” Harry groaned. “I can’t explain it, it just-- it just feels… I don’t know.”

“Dumbledore may have left, but his things might still be there.” Hermione said, trying to lift Harry’s spirits. “There’s nothing saying they would’ve packed up the whole house, especially with what happened to his father.”

“I guess that’s true.” Ron frowned, lowering himself to the floor in front of Hermione’s armchair. “But wouldn’t he have moved it, even if he used something from there?”

“Maybe…” Harry frowned. “Did the book say anything else about Dumbledore?”

“I mean yeah, it was a biography.” Ron snorted. “But anything useful? Doubt it.”

“Damn.” Harry shook his head. “So what’s our plan, then? Because that’s the closest thing I’ve got.”

“Going to Godric’s Hollow seems like… an unnecessary risk.” Ron frowned, leaning back against Hermione’s legs. “But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be taking risks at all.”

“What risks are worth it, though?” Harry asked. “What’s worth the trouble?”

“Alright, well we have to be realistic.” Ron stared up at the ceiling, a calculating look set firmly on his face. “The whole reason we ran away was so that Harry could stay here in England and continue fighting the war. Our primary goal is to find and destroy whatever horcruxes are left- but we don’t have any clue as to what they are or where they could be.”

“We don’t even know how many there are.” Harry said gloomily. “We only know what we’ve got. And there’s only so many times we can say what we’ve got over and over aga--” He frowned. “Wait. Think about where we are, for a second.”

“The Black family home.” Hermione said, confused.

“If we were thinking about a Horcrux, where it could be, what it could be doing… what’s a better place to start than here? Where we actually found one!” A pang of regret shot through Harry as he said the words, feeling as if he were reducing the horrible year they’d put Anne through to some morale raising point, but it did what he’d intended, putting a smile on Hermione’s face. “If anyone knows anything about Dark Magic, it’s going to be on a book somewhere in this house.”

“If Tom trusted the Blacks enough to basically hand Regulus the locket on a silver platter, then it stands to reason he could have given some of his other horcruxes to the Death Eaters.” Ron said. “And pureblood families are basically all related because of the inbreeding. You’re right, Harry, there’s a decent chance we’ll find a clue in here somewhere.”

“No need to go to Godric’s Hollow, then.” Harry said, feeling a little better about the path they’d chosen than he would’ve five minutes before. “We’ve got all we need right here.”

* * *

“Hey, Appa? Amma?” Drew looked up from his dinner. “Anju and I have a question!” His sister, sitting beside him, slapped her hand over her face as soon as he mentioned her name.

“I feel like we’re being ambushed.” James picked at his dinner before sitting back in his chair. “Okay. Question time. Go for it.”

“What were things like for you guys during the first war? Like… before you went into hiding, but also once you did?” Drew asked, cocking his head to the side. 

James looked to Lily, uncharacteristically silent, as if waiting for her approval to say anything.

“Well… What exactly do you mean?” Lily asked, glancing at her husband and back to her kids. “What was it like in terms of… what?”

“Y’know, like. Everything.” Drew shrugged, obviously at a loss for words.

“Well, this is the second time you went into hiding!” Anne said, leaning forward. “But last time you stayed in the country. That… didn’t work, in the end.”

“I mean, I told you most of what happened.” James shrugged. “Can’t imagine what about it would be interesting. We spent a lot of time indoors. Eventually a baby turned up. Then we spent the rest of the time chasing him around.”

“But you went into hiding knowing a baby was gonna turn up.” Drew pointed out. “Having Hari Anna was the whole reason you went into hiding to begin with.”

“That’s… true.” Lily frowned, wiping at her mouth with a napkin. “But, like your father said, it wasn’t exactly interesting. We mostly just sat around and waited for people to visit us.”

“We read a lot of books.” James said, looking over at Lily. “Both of us had kept all of our books from NEWTs, so I borrowed the ones for the classes I didn’t take, and she did the same. Just to have something to do outside of mealtimes.”

“I tried cooking. Failed at that, obviously.” She snorted as her children all seemed to collectively wince at the thought. “I think that’s when I started up my potion business, wasn’t it, James?”

“Yeah. You had big plans.” James smiled fondly. 

“Worked out for me, didn’t it?” She said smugly.

“Did you have plans, Appa?” Sarah asked.

“Not a one.” James laughed. “Your mother found it easier to make plans for afterward and I went in the opposite direction. We had to do a lot of talking to find some middle ground there.”

“It must have been hard to keep a baby inside.” Sarah said and James looked away, heaving a deep sigh. “We all know Hari likes to run.”

“Your Uncle Sirius got him one of those infant brooms. The same one you four used later on.”

“Same one the three of them used.” Lily corrected. “Madhu here didn’t like flying even when he was too little to know what he was doing.”

Matt ducked his head, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. “Um… So you really couldn’t take Hari out of the house at all?” He asked quietly. “Not even into the yard or anything?”

“We didn’t know how far the enchantment went.” James knew the topic was still difficult for Lily and reached around Matt to take her hand. “So it was a gamble. What if it was just the house and taking him outside wrecked the whole concept of being hidden? And all three of us couldn’t fit under the Cloak, so…” He fell silent for a minute, chewing on his lower lip. “Yeah. We couldn’t take him outside at all.”

“I guess that explains why he likes Quidditch so much.” Sarah said, though she was immediately aware her words might be taken differently than she intended. “I didn’t mean that in a bad way, I mean, you did your best. Both of you.”

“We did what we could.” James corrected. “It was a tough situation and we weren’t ready for how much having a kid in the equation would change things. Once we got out of there, it was like… nothing was scary anymore. We’d done the best with the worst.”

“Is that why we came here?” Anne asked, not looking up from her dinner. “Cause.. You’d already done it before, and it worked, so why not do it again?”

“We want to protect you.” Lily said, reaching around Matt to gently pat her hair. “And this was the best way to do it.”

“We can go outside here.” James said, as if that had made the choice beyond simple. “Gives us a little more freedom.”

“Yeah, I think I’d go crazy if I had to stay inside all the time…” Drew made a face. “Hari would too, if he were here.”

A silence fell over the family at the reminder of their missing brother and son. 

“Well… lucky for us he was a baby last time. Didn’t know any better.” Lily hummed. “It was just your father and I getting cabin fever.”

“What about before, though?” Anne asked. “You guys were part of the Order of the Phoenix. You fought the war.” 

“Things were different back then.” Lily sighed. 

“Once you’ve got kids… your priorities change. Fighting the war becomes less important than protecting your kid.” James said. “Suddenly the rest of the world doesn’t matter as much.”

“You’re the most important things in our life.” Lily said seriously. “You come first- and living to make sure you have someone to take care of you is more important.”

“It’s not like war actually solves anything.” Sarah picked at her food. “All it does is cause instability and create the perfect platform for bad people to do bad things.”

“We’re doing what we can. We’re getting families out even from here.” James said. “Duelling isn’t all your old dad can do, you know.”

“Just because we’re not on the front lines doesn’t mean we’re not fighting.”


	10. G is for Grand Larceny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People go to school, get schooled, and plan to school others. We're all going back to school, but this time, it's the School of Hard Knocks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanksgiving Break is over and we're back with stories to tell and fun to have! Come back next week for the Muggleborn Registration Commission, a forgotten anniversary, and an unexpected reunion.

Bellatrix Lestrange, wild black hair flying out around her face like a halo, stared up at Voldemort hungrily. 

“Thank you, my Lord, thank you.” She said, relief writ clear on her face. “I’ll do better, I swear. Thank you for the chance to redeem my family name.”

“It’s a worthy name, Bellatrix.” Voldemort said, sounding thoughtful. “It deserves better than those mongrels you call cousins. Thankfully we’re rid of them both, but there is still some… pruning to be done, as you know. To clean up the family tree. No garden is perfect without a little landscaping.”

“You have my loyalty, my Lord. You always have and you always will.” Bellatrix promised, and as the words left her mouth, Harry was suddenly jolted into wakefulness, the remnants of her desperate smile still imprinted on the back of his eyelids. 

Ron was leaning over him, hands on his shoulders. “Harry, are you alright?” He asked, slowly pulling Harry up into a sitting position. 

“I saw something. I saw something.” Harry shook his head to try and clear the thoughts out. “Bellatrix-- Bellatrix. She’s got something of his. We were right. We need to be here.”

“What?” Ron frowned, still keeping his hands anchored on Harry’s shoulders. “What do you mean you saw something? I thought you stopped with that after my dad got attacked?”

“I’ve-- Uh-- It hasn’t stopped.” Harry hung his head. “I don’t know if he’s putting it there or if I’m just-- I dunno, looking for something in his head, but--”

“Okay, scary implications aside, should we find Hermione or…?” Ron pulled back, taking a seat at the end of the bed Harry had claimed for the night. “What was that you said about Bellatrix?”

“She’s protecting something for him. I think it’s a Horcrux. I didn’t-- I didn’t get a good look at it, but I saw a badger. What’s-- What’s that about?” Harry rubbed at his eyes, feeling as if his head was full of fog. 

“A badger? Harry, that’s the symbol for Hufflepuff!” Ron leaned forward on his hands, suddenly excited. “That could be the next horcrux!”

“Oh god.” Harry groaned. “What does Hufflepuff have?” He rolled off the edge of the bed and onto the floor, hitting it with a thump. “Hermione!” 

“What?” Hermione came running in, terror plain on her face. “Oh. He’s just fallen out of bed again. Why’d you call me for that?”

“What? Oh, no, he’s fine.” Ron said, climbing to his feet. “But he had a vision.”

“A vision? Again? Harry.” Hermione sighed, sitting down on the end of his bed. “I thought you said you were trying to lock him out.”

“I have been trying.” Harry said. “I have been-- it just showed up. I’ve been putting all my effort toward Occlumency. You know I wouldn’t do that halfway.”

Harry had been doing a lot of things halfway, these days -- he’d found himself increasingly tired by the monotony of their days paired with the hypervigilance that had all but been burned into his soul, after years and years of being chased and hunted. Maybe they weren’t looking for him now, maybe they hadn’t found him yet, but it was easier said than done to shake the feeling that he was being watched, even inside the walls of Grimmauld Place. Harry had embraced sleep whenever it came, when it chose to visit and stay a while, instead of asking too many questions. There wasn’t time to practice Occlumency when his whole world hung in the balance, when one small mistake could doom thousands of innocent people. There was no time for selfishness. There was no time for himself.

Ron frowned, leaning back against the ornate bed frame. “Okay, hear me out… what if it wasn’t Occlumency that’s the problem?”

“What?”

“Just… Occlumency and Legilimency go hand in hand, right?” He said. “And Harry’s been putting so much effort into keeping Tom specifically out of his head. All that energy focused towards one person in particular who’s trying to get into Harry’s brain. So… what if he just sort of slipped in the back door on accident?”

“So you’re saying I’m reading his mind by accident?” Harry asked. “That’s-- That’s-- I don’t know whether that’s terrible or cool, but it’ll do for now.”

“Oh, sweet, I thought Hermione was gonna shoot me down on that one.” Ron let out a nervous chuckle.

“It’s pretty reasonable.” Hermione said. “Trying to do one and doing the other by accident seems like something Harry would do, even if I don’t know too much about the particulars of either. An opportunity for research, I guess.”

“More than that, we need to research something else -- what would Hufflepuff have owned that Tom would want to make into a Horcrux? And if Bellatrix were guarding something of Tom’s…. Where would she put it?”

“I mean…” Ron trailed off uncomfortably for a moment. “Okay, so remember how Bill used to work at Gringott’s?”

“Nope!” Harry shook his head. “Nope! We are not doing it! Nope!”

“But the Lestranges have a vault there!” Ron said, stifling a laugh at Harry’s reaction. “I remember Bill saying they were kicking up a big fuss a few months ago to move something in there, and he didn’t get it because he saw one of the goblins helping them down to the vaults and it was super small.”

“I’m not breaking into a bank where you die if you break in! Who’s going to fight Tom?”

“Okay, then Ron and I will go.” Hermione said.

“No!” Harry complained. “Nobody goes.”

“Then we don’t get the Horcrux.”

“Damn.” Harry sighed. “Okay. We’re breaking into a bank.”

* * *

The Room of Requirement had been a simple thing to find. If there was anything the members of the DA had in abundance, it was the need for privacy. 

With Death Eaters now prowling the halls, and Snape sitting in the Headmaster’s office, Umbridge was a mildly unpleasant memory of the past. With the unanimous agreement that the Chamber was no longer safe, the large, echoing Room of Requirement was their best bet. It often felt that they spent more time there than in their own common rooms, so it was no surprise to find the majority of the DA’s leadership huddled there, paging through texts pilfered from the library.

“It keeps coming back to the damn sword!” Ginny exploded suddenly, chucking her book to the floor. 

“I know the throwing things is helping, but can we… stop?” Neville said, letting out an undignified squeak when Ginny’s next projectile came too close for comfort. “Okay, no more throwing things!”

“I second that motion.” Seamus grimaced, leaning down to collect some of the fallen books.

“This is ridiculous!” Ginny shoved her chair back, getting to her feet and yanking on her hair. “The only thing we’re figuring out here is that we need the sword, but the sword is in a bloody glass case in Snape’s office!” 

“Even the most daunting of cages has a key.” Luna said wisely.

“She’s right.” Theo nodded solemnly. “Also, glass is breakable.”

“Brute force has always worked in the past.” Ginny grumbled. “Thanks, Theo.”

“Can we please find a better plan than breaking glass or finding keys?” Neville rubbed his forehead. “Because the glass is most likely charmed to be unbreakable and Snape probably keeps his keys in some sort of horrid basement full of enchanted shark teeth or something.”

“That’ll be the Malfoys, mate.” Theo said sagely. “They’re the only ones with enough money for a basement full of regular shark teeth, let alone enchanted ones.”

“I do think we need to get the sword.” Luna said, setting her own book down. Strangely, it had been upside down, though no one doubted that she had been reading steadily, as she had been volunteering bits of the text periodically. “Harry, Ron, and Hermione will find it quite useful, I imagine.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean shit if we can’t actually get our hands on it.” Ginny pointed out, beginning to pace back and forth. 

“The question is how we get at it. We’ve got a host of variables to straighten out.” Theo said. “Snape himself, which I can tackle. Snape is the Slytherin head of house still, at heart, no matter what other titles he’s taken on. If we call, he’ll come. There’s also Professor McGonagall, but that’s best left to you, Ginny, seeing as she’s your Head of House. And all this needs to be solved before we think about the sword at all.”

“There is something we need to think about, actually.” Luna said, raising a hand. “Once we get the sword, we have to work out how to get it to Harry.”

“I, uh, might have a solution to that problem?” Seamus shrank in his seat slightly. “I’m sure you all know Dean skipped town before the school year started? I… maybe, might still be in contact with him.”

“I thought you said that was too dangerous?” Ginny paused in her pacing, raising an eyebrow.

“It is dangerous! I really shouldn’t be, honestly, but you can sod off if you think I was actually going to be able to let him run off into danger without some way of checking on him.”

“I’m glad Dean’s speaking to someone.” Theo said. “It’s good for him and for you. As long as you’re being safe about it.” He put an arm around Luna’s shoulders. “So what does that have to do with the sword?”

“Well… He’s already outside the school, and constantly on the move. Out of everyone we could get the sword to, he has the best chance of actually finding the others.” Seamus shifted awkwardly in his seat. 

“So you’re saying… you’re saying we pass the sword to you and you go find Dean?” Neville frowned. “Seamus, that’s so risky! What happens if you get found or if you get hurt or-- or if you can’t find Dean once you’re out of Hogwarts or--”

“I don’t care!” Seamus stared down at the table, expression set in determination. “Listen, we all know I’ve made a proper git of myself on more than one occasion. I’m not proud of things I’ve done. But this is a good way to start making up for it… If there’s even a chance I can get that sword to Harry, it’s worth the risk. Everyone has to make sacrifices in a war. This is mine.”

There was a long pause as his words settled around them, and then Ginny spoke up.

“Also, you miss Dean.”

“... Also, I miss Dean.”

“Well done.” Theo clapped, earnest as always. “That was a hell of a speech.”

“So we’ve got Seamus getting the sword out of the school, that’s the end as far as we’re concerned. We’ve got Theo making sure Snape’s out of the way, and I suppose Ginny needs to come up with a plan for McGonagall. Or maybe I can do it so Ginny and Luna are free to steal the sword?” Neville asked. “Is that what we’re going with? Or I suppose Seamus will have to be there too, right? If he’s the transport.”

“It would be too much of an extra step for me to be off somewhere else. Passing off the sword as few times as possible is our best bet at getting away with it.” Seamus frowned.

“So Luna, Seamus and I will be the ones to actually get the sword.” Ginny frowned, finally taking a seat at the table again.

“And Theo and I are on distraction duty.” Neville said, looking to Theo for confirmation. Theo nodded slowly, looking off into middle distance. “That’ll work. Hopefully. Right?”

“Whether it works or not doesn’t matter.” Luna said, leaning against Theo’s shoulder. “Only whether or not we’re going to try.”

“And we’re trying.” Neville said. “It’s all we’ve got.”

“Oh, no, we’ve got a lot more than that.” Luna chided gently. “We’ve got each other, haven’t we?”

“Oh, that’s boring, Luna.” Theo teased. “We’ve always got each other.”

“Well, we also have all of these stolen books.” She said brightly.

“Of course, we’ve got books as well.” Theo laughed. “We’re rich, aren’t we?”

“Rich in knowledge, I guess.” Seamus snorted.

“Now that’s an awfully Ravenclaw thing of you to say, Seamus.” Luna clapped.

“Pity he’s not one, then we’d have two of you to make sense of all of this.” Neville sighed. “We’ve got one from each house, I guess. A balanced team, save for the two Gryffindors.”

“Seamus isn’t doing much anyhow.” Theo smirked. “One and a half Gryffindors at best.”

“I’m the only one who knows how to get the sword out of the school!” Seamus squawked. 

“I was only joking, Seamus.” Theo said. “Do calm down.”

“This is homophobia.”

“I didn’t say anything about him being gay.” Theo said, confused. “What?”

“He’s just being stupid.” Ginny said with a laugh. 

A moment of contented silence fell across the group of friends, their amusement shielding them from the reality of their situation. Soon, they would set out to do the impossible, but for now they were just five friends sitting in an empty room.

* * *

“Charu! Adi! Amma wants you in the living room!” Anne poked her head out the backdoor, where the two of them had been sitting in relative peace for the better part of an hour. 

“How come?” Sarah asked. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Don’t worry, it’ll be fun.” Anne said with a smirk before disappearing back inside.

“Y’know, something tells me she was lying.” Drew said with a frown. 

“Just one thing?” Sarah teased. “We’re going to be framed for something. I can feel it.”

“It’s too bad our scapegoat stayed in England.” Drew grumbled as he climbed to his feet. The pair made their way to the living room, only to be met with an unfamiliar sight. All the regular furniture had been pushed back against the wall, replaced with several large cushions on the floor. Piled around those were stacks of books and what appeared to be their school supplies. In the center of the room sat Lily, Anne, and Matt, all clustered around the travel cauldron, which Lily seemed to have set up on top of her bunsen burner. 

“There you are! I was beginning to think you’d run off.” Lily laughed.

“What’s this about?” Sarah asked. “Are we-- no, we’re not doing Potions!”

“No, you’ve already done second year potions.” Lily waved her hand. “This is for the triplets- I’m gonna have you get started with charms or defense magic. Or a different subject. Order doesn’t really matter, since we can kind of do what feels right by ourselves.”

“And I’m here for moral support.” James said proudly. 

“And for Defense Against the Dark Arts.” Lily said.

“We agreed on moral support!” James complained. “Fine. I guess I can whip something up.”

“Wow. I have so much confidence in this.” Sarah grumbled, picking a book off the top of the pile at random. “Care of Magical Creatures. Wonderful.”

“You don’t have to read that.” James said. “You would’ve picked your electives this year, so as long as you’ve got… two? Three? I forget how many, we just let Harry do whatever he wanted at that point.”

“Top notch parenting.” Sarah said. “Impressive.”

“The point is,” Lily gave her husband a look, “I’m not about to let all of you go without an education. I’ve been homeschooling Anju for a bit now and I think we’ve done pretty well for ourselves.”

“It’s actually kinda fun.” Anne shrugged from her place on the floor, tucking a loose strand of hair back into the messy bun she’d thrown it into that morning. “Like Amma said, we kinda get to decide what we want to do as we go.”

“Like arithmancy!” Matt said, clapping his hands together. “I know you’d like that, Charu!”

“Can I drop History of Magic? If we’re deciding what we want to do?” Sarah said eagerly. “Or Potions! I could do without that.”

“No.” James said. “You can drop Potions and other required subjects in fifth year and not a moment sooner. We don’t plan to be homeschooling you at that point, God willing, but if we are, you can quit then.”

“But, we can work on making a lesson plan that works better for you, and if you’re overwhelmed by potions you can always put it down and we can do something else at that time.” Lily said, reaching out to smooth down her daughter’s hair. “Make sense?”

“So I don’t have to do Potions if I tell you I’m overwhelmed?” Sarah asked.

“We need better kids.” James shook his head. “What happened to them not being able to talk and this being easy?”

“That went out the door once we had triplets.” Lily snorted, reaching to change the intensity of the bunsen burner. “But we love them anyways.”

“I’ll try Defense, then.” Sarah put the Care of Magical Creatures book aside while looking her father directly in the eye. “What have you got?”

“I imagined I’d get at least an hour’s lead time.” James grumbled. “Fine. Werewolves.”

“That was day one of Defense for me. Try again.” Sarah fired back. 

“We’re plenty sharp today, aren’t we?” James sighed. “Right. What do you want to learn about? Why don’t we start there?”

“I don’t know.” Sarah said. “You’re the teacher, why don’t you decide?”

“Hey, you’re chickening out of the one job you have!” Drew said, turning to face his father. “Amma is doing all the other subjects!”

“Did they pay you to be a chicken at Hogwarts?” Anne giggled.

“I wish.” James grimaced. “Instead I had to patrol bathrooms and keep kids out of certain death scenarios that nobody ever wanted to talk about during staff meetings.”

 

“Well you didn’t do a very good job.” Drew scrunched up his nose. “Hari was almost dying every year!”

“Yeah, hence the part where no one wanted to address my concerns.” James shuddered. “It was out of control before what’s happened now and now I don’t think it’ll be safe to go back to.”

“What’s happened now?” Sarah asked, curious.

“I’ve had word from Remus, that, uh, well…” James trailed off. “Hogwarts is under… new leadership now.”

A silence descended over the room, broken by Matt’s small voice. “Death Eaters.” It wasn’t a question. 

“I’ll give you two guesses who’s headmaster, Lily.” James said solemnly. “I don’t know if you’ll even need one.”

“Well I already punched Petunia- he’s next on my list.” Lily sighed, reaching for a wooden spoon to stir the cauldron with. 

“Yeah. Not worth going to Hogwarts to do it, anyhow.” James shook his head. “If you kids are in contact with anyone on the inside, be careful about it. Snape’ll be watching for you, and if he finds proof that any of you are talking to anyone, which you should not be, we’re all at risk. Voldemort may hesitate to waste his time across borders, but Snape will not. And considering being Headmaster of Hogwarts has nothing to do with actually making sure the school’s safe, he’ll have plenty of time on his hands as well.”

“Not to mention they’ll likely be watching all the owls going in and out.” Lily sighed, staring down into the cauldron. “If you’re going to write, try doing so in code, and never sign your actual names, alright?”

“What if we don’t use owls?” Sarah asked, nervously looking over at Drew. “If it’s something untraceable.”

“Can’t imagine where you kids would’ve gotten your hands on something like that.” James said, with a meaningful look toward Lily. “But I’d advise you to be careful. Any enchanted object is dangerous, whether you use it or not, whether you know who enchanted it or don’t. There’s a lot of room for error and interpretation and if you didn’t do it yourself and perfectly correctly, there are a lot of bad things that could happen to whoever ends up using it, be that yourself or whoever you’ve given it to. That’s a hell of a Defense topic to start out with, so we might as well start there.”

“If only muggle technology worked at Hogwarts.” Anne sighed. 

“Yeah, well,” Lily murmured, “obviously a lot of stuff doesn’t work at Hogwarts.”

* * *

“You poor kids.” James said, smiling despite the fact that he had Drew in a headlock. “Forced to go to school and now you’ve got a whole free afternoon. Whatever will you do with it?”

“Probably ponder our place in the universe.” Anne hummed, helping Matt drag a tangle of brooms across the lawn. 

“I thought we were playing Quidditch?” Matt said softly. 

“We are.” Anne assured him without missing a beat.

“You want to play?” Sarah asked. “That’ll be fun. Not just me and the boys.”

“Why not, right?” Anne shrugged, grabbing at one of the brooms and weighing it in her hands. “I mean, I obviously know how to fly. I bet with some practice I’ll be whooping all your butts.”

“Yeah right!” came Drew’s muffled voice from beneath James’ arm.

“You’ll make a good Beater.” James said with confidence. “You’ve got the aim for it. Steady hands. Everything that makes you a good cook is surprisingly useful for braining people with somewhat sentient cannonballs.”

“Somewhat sentient cannonballs.” Sarah mused aloud. “That’s a new way to describe Bludgers. I like it.”

“You can have it.” James grinned. “That’s the cool thing about words. They’re free.”

“Unless you go to jail for them.” Matt said thoughtfully, mounting his broom and bouncing a bit. “Then they cost a lot.”

“Deep.” Anne sighed, already taking to the air and gently looping around her youngest brother.

“That’s what we keep him around for.” James threw an arm around Matt’s shoulders, pulling him into his side. “Big thoughts and stuff, yeah, Madhu?”

Matt fumbled his broom at the contact, blinking up at his father. “I guess. I mostly thought you kept me around because I’m your son.”

“Oh, that too.” James said cheerfully. “It’s a bonus.”

“Nah, that’s Hari!” Drew laughed. “We like you enough to keep you around even if we weren’t related.”

“That’s also true.” James pinched Matt’s cheek like he was a toddler again. “You’re sweet and very well intentioned, things that cannot be said for any of the rest of us.”

“I’m well intentioned!” Drew protested, ignoring Anne’s high pitched giggle. 

“He’s right, you know.” Sarah shrugged, mounting her broom and kicking off, flying lazy circles around Drew just so she could wiggle her bare feet in his face every so often. “Even you have a devious plan or two every so often.”

“To be clear, Madhu: no devious plans necessary. If you’ve got any in the works, don’t tell me. I’m an old man. I’d like to live out the rest of my days in pure, sweet ignorant bliss.” James closed his eyes, smiling. “Man, that’d be amazing.”

“You are going gray, so old man might be necessary at this point.” Sarah snorted when James looked at her, mouth hanging open in shock. “What, you haven’t noticed?”

“I’m too young for this.” James motioned to Sarah, shaking his head. “We did not think this through. God, we’ll have five teenagers by the end of the year.”

Anne gently floated closer to her father, peering down at the top of his head. “She’s right!” She said, sounding surprised. “You’ve got grey hairs, Appa.”

“It’s a group effort.” James sighed. “Wouldn’t be here without you all. Congratulations. Thank you.”

“I don’t think being a teenager will be any different than being twelve.” Drew shrugged, joining his sisters in the air. “Maybe more stressful.”

“Oh, it won’t feel different to you. It’ll just be the rest of us dealing with the attitude all thirteen year olds get.” James grimaced. “I’d hope that you’d be like your mother rather than me but… let’s face it, we were terrible teenagers, the both of us.”

“And three of us, too!” Anne giggled. “Well, two, really. I doubt Madhu will be hard to deal with.”

“I’m a delight.” He said seriously.

“And hopefully you will always be.” James craned his neck to drop a kiss on the top of his head. “You’re a good boy.”

“What about me?” Drew asked with an exaggerated pout.

“You are also a good boy, Adi. Honestly, does everything have to be a competition with you kids?” James teased. 

“Probably.” Anne floated a little higher, circling Sarah. “Luckily, quidditch is actually a competition.”

“Lucky us. A house full of athletes.” James grabbed the Quaffle out of the box of sports things he’d packed, tossing it as high as he could. “READY! SET! MATCH!”

“I think the grey hair looks handsome, Appa.” Matt whispered as he finally mounted his broom. 

“Thank you, Madhu.” James patted him on the shoulder. “No idea what I’d do without you.”

* * *

The back porch of the house was just as James remembered.

As a child, he’d jumped off the stairs that lead from the house down onto the concrete slab that rose mightily out of the ground and run back up them to jump again. His grandparents had found this infuriating, and he felt like he was living every second of it over again now, sitting on those same steps -- the rush of adrenaline, the high pitched laughter, the confidence of a job well done -- as he watched his children zoom around on brooms he thanked his lucky stars he’d thought to pack, tossing about old, worn Quidditch balls that his aunt had found up in a shelf somewhere and suggested he spruce up for them. 

“You know, back when it was just Hari… I wondered if we’d ever get this. Just… seeing our kids play in the backyard. And yeah, the world’s all fucked to hell and back and we’re missing a kid and things aren’t right, but… This is a pretty good moment.” James laughed as Anne missed Drew by a hair, obviously intentionally -- the girl liked to send a message and he was glad to support it. “It really is simple stuff, you know? Simple stuff made all we went through the first time worth it, but… I don’t know if it’ll pull it off a second time.”

“No matter what happens, we have this.” Lily smiled up at the kids, watching as Sarah, in a rare moment of unbridled joy, laugh as Anne did a corkscrew. “Hari is almost as old as we were doing the first war. We made it out, so there’s nothing to say he won’t too.”

“He’s alive, you know. There’s been a sighting.” James folded his hands in his lap, watching the game devolve into something that only bore a vague resemblance to Quidditch -- Sarah had thrown the Quaffle directly at Drew to make it more challenging for her to catch the rebound while Anne was trying her level best to knock them both off their brooms with one shot. “Remus said. There’s, uh, a radio show on. Called it Potterwatch. After us.” He chuckled. “Either way, he’s been spotted. Him, Ron and Hermione, all together. We should’ve known, right?”

“Did you really think he ran off on his own?” Lily smiled sadly at her husband. “Those three are basically the same as you and your boys were in Hogwarts. Glued at the hip…”

“Not anymore.” James sighed. “One of us is dead, one of us is here, and two of us in England, but Remus is the only one that matters.” 

“He’ll be alright.” She reached out to place a hand on his shoulder, soon followed by her head, hair spilling down to his chest. “He isn’t anywhere near the thick of it. Mostly working to get muggleborns out of the country, from what he’s told me.”

“You know how people looked at him even during peacetime, Lily.” James shook his head. “Now, with a war on?”

“Everything is dangerous these days, James.” She whispered. “It’s the lesser of two evils.”

“No evil would be pretty nice.” James said, squinting up at the sky. “Hey, universe, make it happen.”

“With Voldemort around? Not likely.” She stood straight again, tucking her red hair behind an ear. “Which is what all of this is about.”

“Yeah. I know. All of this is about making sure we’ll get to no evil someday, but… it’d be nice to have a little break.” James shrugged. “I know we got a good decade off and we should be thankful for it, but… god, imagine, some people never have to deal with this stuff for their whole lives.”

“You mean some people ignore it their whole lives.” Lily frowned, glancing up when Drew let out a loud yell, but relaxing slightly when it dissolved into laughter. “You know we’d be back out there again if it weren’t for the kids.”

“Ignorance. Been wondering about what that might be like. Some people really don’t know how good they’ve got it.” James smiled sadly. “Yeah. I know we would be. Maybe it’s better that we aren’t. Just because… I don’t know, Lily. We got through on luck the first time. Skill too, sure, but luck. I don’t know if I could depend on just that again. Guess you need to be a kid to fight like that, huh?”

“Guess so.” She laughed, turning to smile at James. “When you’re that young, you think you’re invincible.” 

“Well, hopefully we’ll raise the rest of them with a little more perspective.” James stole a kiss before looking back up toward their remaining children, now fighting over Anne’s bat in mid air. “Nobody’s invincible, I guess. Sirius would’ve been my best guess.”

“Mine too.” Lily said. “Sometimes I still expect him to bust through the front door and kidnap the kids for field trip.”

“Yeah. I gave the mirror a few tries, but… we all know that’s basically just… a door to nowhere now, with him gone.” James sighed. 

Lily reached out and intertwined their fingers together. “It didn’t turn up at his flat afterwards, did it?”

“No, it didn’t. I gave the mirror off to Sarah. Figured she’d like it.” James shrugged. “As far as she knows, it’s just a mirror though. I think. Who knows?”

“Oh she definitely figured that out.” Lily snorted. “She’s a smart girl, dear, she probably knew what it was the second you handed it to her.”

“She did, she did. And she’s probably using Sirius’ mirror for some kind of mischief. God, I hope I enchanted that right.”

“Probably not.”

“Thanks for the confidence, babe.” James grimaced. “Loving it.”

“It’s just because I know you so well.” She laughed, bumping their shoulders together.

“I know, I know.” James threw away the feigned offense to smile at his wife. “Ah, let’s hope for the best at once. Screw realism. Realism didn’t get us here.”

“Realism can kiss my arse.” Lily agreed sagely.


End file.
